Secrets Revealed
by tpal2150
Summary: Young Blades, AU. The end of “Secrets” reveals more to the young musketeers than they could have ever imagined. Crossover with Highlander
1. Chapter 1

Secrets Revealed

Disclaimer: Neither the Young Blades characters nor the Highlander characters and concepts involved belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for the time being.

Author: Shirley Long

Rating: 3 Swords/R (for violence and some sexual content in later chapters)

Synopsis: AU. The end of "Secrets" reveals more to the young musketeers than they could have ever imagined.

A/N: Just so no one gets confused, I've taken a bit of artistic license with the last half of the final episode (excluding the Dumas subplot, which, far as I'm concerned, never really happened). Hence the 'AU' descriptor in the synopsis. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Siroc rode alone through the forest, headed in the direction of the old Roget house. D'Artagnan and Ramon were behind him somewhere, but at the moment, he neither knew nor cared exactly where. As soon as the Legend's son told him of "Jacques'" injury, he'd rushed ahead, knowing that he had to reach that cabin first. Upon finally arriving at his destination, Siroc cautiously pushed the front door open, not quite sure what to expect. What he found was Death. Bernard was slumped against the wall, the front of his shirt stained with blood. A second guard lay nearby, just as dead as his captain. Gerard Roget was sprawled on the floor, LePonte collapsed on top of his body. Siroc immediately rushed over to check on his friends. Gerard was long gone, his body already starting to grow cold. Jacques still had a pulse, but it was steadily growing weaker. He put his hand on the spot where D'Artagnan claimed Jacques had been wounded and when he pulled it away, it was covered in blood, which he quickly wiped clean on Gerard's dark trousers.

"Jacques!" he called out, gently shaking his comrade's shoulders. No response. He leaned in a bit closer. "Jacqueline!" No more point in pretending. He'd known Jacques' true identity for some time now. It had not taken very long to deduce, especially after Liana's spell, but he had kept quiet for the sake of preserving their friendship. Shaking his head to get rid of wandering thoughts, he looked down at her. As she slowly lifted her head to look at him, he looked into her eyes and realized that consciousness was already starting to fade. He did not have much time.

"D…D'Artagnan?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid it's just me, Siroc."

"Wh…where's D'Artagnan?"

"He'll be here soon. He and Ramon were right behind me. I swear it."

Jacqueline smiled, then started coughing. When the fit subsided, Siroc noticed flecks of blood on her sleeve and on Gerard's shirt. He frowned. Her coughing up blood could only mean that the blade had pierced some part of her lung…and that meant they had even less time then he thought. "It…it's bad, isn't it?"

"You want the truth?" She nodded, and Siroc sighed. "Yes, it's bad. The blade that did this most likely pierced your lung, which would explain why you're coughing up blood. And unfortunately, that sort of wound is beyond my ability to repair."

"So…so I'm going to die?"

"Well…there is one way I know of that can help. It's rather…unconventional…but at this point it may be your only option."

Jacqueline nodded, coughing up a bit more blood. "Wha…whatever it is…do it."

"Do you trust me?"

"W…with…my life."

"Alright then." Quickly, Siroc went over to the front door of the cabin and locked it, then helped Jacqueline back into the bed.

"So…so tired," she muttered, visibly fighting to stay awake. Siroc sat down on the hard mattress and drew her head onto his lap, gently brushing the hair out of her face.

"It's okay, Jacqueline. You go ahead and get some rest. By the time you wake up, you'll be as good as new. I promise."

"Th…thank…you." With that, her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, and her body soon relaxed. Immediately, Siroc laid a hand on her neck and checked for a pulse. It was still there, but continued to grow weaker. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task at hand.

"I wish there was another way to do this, Jacqueline, but I'm afraid we're out of options." Sighing heavily, he placed one hand under her jaw and the other behind her head. "Gods forgive me if I'm wrong…" Siroc closed his own eyes and, with one swift and well-practiced motion, snapped her neck. The body twitched for a moment and then grew still, the mortal life of Jacqueline Roget at an end. Carefully, the inventor slid off the mattress and stood up. There was one more problem that needed to be taken care of. He reached under his musketeer-issue jacket and withdrew an ancient but well-maintained gladius, turning towards the wall where Bernard had fallen only to find it bare once again. A quick glance around the room revealed that the other guard had disappeared as well. Swearing under his breath, Siroc searched the cabin for Bernard's escape route and soon came across a rear entrance that was wide open. "Damn!" He stood there for a minute, trying to get a sense as to where the cardinal's captain had gone, but came up empty. The sun was already well on its way down, and pursuit would be impossible in the dark. He launched into a string of particularly vile oaths, shifting into ancient Greek and Latin when the modern languages no longer sufficed. Before he could start on Egyptian, his tirade was interrupted by a loud knock at the front entrance. Quickly, he hid the gladius and moved to answer, opening the door to reveal D'Artagnan and Ramon. "Took you two long enough. What kept you?"

Ramon looked at D'Artagnan. "It's not our fault you decided to turn it into a race, amigo."

The Legend's son nodded. "Yeah Siroc, would it have killed you to slow down a bit?"

Siroc glared. "No, but it might've killed our comrade. I'm lucky I got here when I did."

D'Artagnan and Ramon's annoyance quickly turned to concern as they stared at the blonde inventor.

D'Artagnan looked at the wounded musketeer. "How is…er…Jacques? He alright?"

"_She_ will be just fine." Ramon looked a bit confused, but the Legend's son merely sighed in relief. A thought crossed Siroc's mind. '_Well, that explains why those two are so close._'

"May I see her?" Without waiting for an answer, D'Artagnan tried to go inside. Siroc quickly pushed him back.

"Not yet. She's resting right now."

"Well, could I at least speak to Gerard?"

Siroc shook his head. "I'm afraid that would be impossible."

"Why?"

"He's dead. Bernard managed to free himself and stabbed him. Jacqueline was able to wound Bernard, but he still escaped. And I have a sinking feeling that he knows who she really is." There were several moments of deafening silence as the younger musketeers allowed this new information to sink in.

The Spaniard walked over to water trough. "What do we do, compadres? We can't allow Mazarin to destroy our comrade, no matter what he thinks he…er…she…has done."

"No, we can't," D'Artagnan chimed in. "I say we find Bernard and finish him off before he can tell Mazarin what he knows."

"Good idea, amigo. Let's go." They both drew their swords and were about to head off into the woods when Siroc grabbed their collars.

"Not so fast. You two won't do anyone any good by running off half-cocked and getting yourselves killed."

"And what would you suggest, Oh wise one?" D'Artagnan mocked as he and the Spaniard sheathed their swords.

"Si, Siroc, tell us. Do you have a better plan?"

The blonde looked at the two. "As a matter of fact, Ramon, I do."

D'Artagnan snickered. "And what exactly would that be?"

Siroc looked at the house. "We kill Jacqueline Roget." It grew quiet for a few moments, both men staring at him as if he'd grown a second head.

D'Artagnan stepped between Siroc and the house. "Whoa, wait a second…could you repeat that? I'm not sure I heard you right."

Siroc stared into D'Artagnan's eyes, and it was plain to see that the Legend's son was teetering dangerously on the edge. He sighed. "I said that we should kill Jacqueline Roget. Not literally, of course, but I think that the best way to get Mazarin off her back would be to convince everyone that she's dead and that Jacques LePonte is really her twin brother."

D'Artagnan went eerily silent, sitting down on a nearby stump. Ramon, meanwhile, started to laugh. "That has got to be the stupidest plan I've ever heard of, amigo. It'll never work."

Siroc arched an eyebrow. "Really? Tell me, Ramon. If I hadn't said anything, would you have ever even remotely considered the possibility that Jacques was a woman?"

"Not really…"

"Exactly. So I see no reason why we can't simply kill off the identity that Mazarin's searching for and continue to fool everyone into believing that Jacques LePonte truly exists."

"Well." As D'Artagnan stood up, he startled both of his comrades. "As brilliant as that plan sounds, I really think we should leave it up to Jacqueline. After all, it _is_ her life we're talking about."

Siroc nodded. "Good point, D'Artagnan. I completely agree. So let's get Gerard taken care of for now, and when Jacqueline wakes up, we'll ask her what she wants to do." The other two nodded, and then looked at Siroc expectantly. "Alright, I need the two of you to get started on the digging. There should be some shovels and lanterns in the barn. In the meantime, I'm going to go check on Jacqueline, and then I'll see if I can put together some sort of coffin for Gerard."

"Where do you want us to dig, compadré?"

Siroc opened his mouth to answer, but D'Artagnan beat him to it.

"We should try and find a spot in the family plot. Gerard should be with his parents."

"Of course." With that, the Gascon and the Spaniard made their way to the barn and Siroc headed back inside the house. He went over to the bed and immediately felt Jacqueline's wrist for a pulse, but there was none yet to be found. A little worried, he pushed up her shirt and checked underneath the bandages, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the wound significantly smaller then it had been when he had first arrived.

"Not much longer now." Gently, he brushed back a few stray hairs along her forehead before getting up and heading out to the barn. The other two were already hard at work digging, so Siroc quickly located tools and wood and began the grim task of constructing Gerard's coffin.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

About a half-hour after Siroc left the cabin, Jacqueline returned to life with a loud gasp. She shot up, practically hyperventilating in her efforts to return precious air to her lungs. As she struggled to breathe normally, her eyes automatically darted about the room, assessing the situation. Bernard and his cohort had somehow disappeared, but everything else was as she remembered. Except…. "Siroc!" Quickly, she swiveled around so her legs were dangling off the bed. Unfortunately, as she prepared to push herself upright, Jacqueline managed to impale her right hand on a nail that was sticking out of the bed frame. Biting back a scream, she carefully pried the injured appendage loose and then held it up to inspect the damage, which amounted to a small bloody hole in the middle of her palm. Cursing, she grabbed a handful of sheets in her good hand, intent on tearing off some scraps for bandages. However, before she could start, Jacqueline received probably the biggest shock of her life. Tiny blue sparks darted across the wound and, in mere seconds, it was fully healed. Not even the slightest trace of a scar. She flexed the hand experimentally, and it was as if time had been turned back. "What the…" She let go of the sheets and, remembering the sword wound, lifted her shirt and pulled off the bandages to find…nothing. There were still traces of blood, as with her hand. Otherwise, it was like that guard had never even touched her. "My God….Siroc, what have you done to me?" Using the now-unnecessary bandages, she wiped the blood from both spots before pulling on the rest of her clothes and heading outside to find the blonde inventor, her mind whirling with questions. In her haste, however, she neglected to retrieve her weapon. Jacqueline could hear someone hammering inside the barn, and instinct told her to check there first. As she approached, she was overcome by an indescribable sensation inside her head. Like a really bad headache, only…not. Undaunted, she gritted her teeth against the pain and continued on her way the barn doors, which she threw open to reveal none other than Siroc, who was putting the finishing touches on what appeared to be a coffin. Gerard's coffin, no doubt. After a moment, he glanced up from his work and smiled.

"Hello, Jacqueline. Good to see you up and about." Their eyes met, and the strange sensation faded away to a nearly imperceptible throb at the back of her skull. "Come…sit down. I'm sure you have quite a few questions." He gestured towards a large overturned bucket, which she immediately dropped onto.

"Siroc, I…I want to know exactly what you did to me. What the hell am I?"

Siroc sighed. "It's a long story, Jacqueline, but rest assured that there's a perfectly natural explanation for what you're going through.

"Natural?" Faster than the inventor could have anticipated, Jacqueline leapt off the bucket, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him against the nearest wall. Glaring, she leaned her forearm against his throat, exerting just enough pressure to hold him in place while still allowing him to speak. "Not only has my supposedly mortal wound disappeared completely, but when I woke up, I accidentally put a nail through my palm and, upon removing said nail, I watched what looked like miniature lightning bolts seal the wound in mere seconds. Last time I checked, that sort of power was as far from 'natural' as you could get. I want an explanation, Siroc, and I want it now or so help me--"

"Jacqueline?" Easing up on Siroc, she turned her head to see Ramon and D'Artagnan standing in the doorway. Immediately, she let go of the blonde and threw herself into the Gascon's waiting arms, allowing his comforting presence to soothe her rage. Softly stroking her auburn tresses, D'Artagnan glanced over at Siroc, who was leaning heavily against the wall, rubbing the base of his throat. "What the hell's going on here, Siroc? What did you do to her?"

"N-nothing…I swear it." He and D'Artagnan stared at each other for a moment, before Ramon chimed in.

"Doesn't look like 'nothing,' amigo. What happened?"

"I swear, I haven't harmed her in any way. In fact, Jacqueline is in perfect health. See for yourselves." Jacqueline lifted her head from D'Artagnan's shoulder and stepped back, lifting the bottom of her shirt to show the other two the spot which, just hours before, had been a gaping hole in her flesh. Staring at the now unmarked skin, D'Artagnan gasped while Ramon quickly crossed himself, muttering in an odd mixture of Latin and Spanish.

The Gascon shook stared at the woman as he stammered. "J-Jacqueline. H-how is this possible?"

"That's what I'd like to know…Siroc." All three of them turned to face the inventor, staring at him expectantly.

"I do have an explanation for this, I promise. But don't you think we should get Gerard taken care of first? We'll have plenty of time to talk once he's been properly laid to rest."

Slowly, Jacqueline nodded. "Of course." She felt tears beginning to form, and quickly pushed them back. There'd be plenty of time for that later. Noticing this, Siroc laid a hand on her shoulder in an attempt at comfort. They stared at each other for a moment, and then he turned to the Spaniard.

"Ramon, come help me get this coffin over to the house."

With a slight nod, he wordlessly followed Siroc over to the worktable. Together, they removed the object in question, revealing a second one behind the first.

"Siroc," Jacqueline asked, "why are there two?"

The inventor briefly flashed her an enigmatic smile. "You'll see." With that, he and Ramon carried the crude casket out of the barn. D'Artagnan picked up a lantern and led the way, Jacqueline close by his side. Once inside the house, Jacqueline, with D'Artagnan's help, carefully wrapped Gerard's body in some old bed sheets and placed it inside the coffin. Siroc sprinkled something on the body, then put the lid on and nailed it shut. Once he was finished, they all picked it up and carried it out to the Roget family plot. D'Artagnan and Siroc carefully lowered the casket into the hole while Ramon improvised a rhapsody in Gerard's honor. Jacqueline, however, merely stood to one side, unconsciously fingering the tiny crucifix that her brother had foolishly come all the way back to France to return… '_No,_' she chastised herself. '_Gerard was no fool. If he left the safety of the New World to bring this back, he must have had a good reason to. I just wish I knew what that reason was...what my brother gave his life for…_' She felt a hand on her shoulder, and glanced over to see a now-silent Ramon by her side.

"Are you alright, mi Amiga?"

She shook her head. "First Mama, then Papa, and now Gerard…my whole family is gone, Ramon. They're all gone, and I'm alone."

"Hey now…you still have us. Me, Siroc, D'Artagnan…and I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say that we have no intention of going anywhere."

Smiling sadly, she placed her hand on top of the Spaniard's. "I know, and you have no idea just how grateful I am for that. But it's just not the same."

"I know. I miss mi familia as well."

"Yeah, but at least yours are still alive. Mine are all dead. And the worst of it is, it wasn't even Gerard's time…or Papa's, for that matter. Both of them had their lives stolen away by the cardinal's men. They didn't have to die…they didn't deserve to…." She felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes once more and, again, she pushed them back, unwilling to let even Ramon see her so vulnerable. He embraced her anyway, allowing her to lean on him for comfort as she had D'Artagnan earlier.

"Don't worry, Jacqueline." He still found it a little strange referring to his comrade of the past year as a woman. "Mazarin and Bernard will get what's coming to them. We'll make sure of it." Jacqueline pulled back, looking at Ramon with eyebrow raised.

"What are you talking about? Bernard's dead."

Ramon shook his head. "No he's not. Siroc told us that you wounded him and he managed to escape."

"Siroc told you that?"

Ramon nodded.

Jacqueline spit on the ground. "Well, Siroc's lying. I killed that son of a bitch myself…stuck my blade right through his black heart…watched the light fade from his eyes. I know a dead man when I see one, Ramon, and trust me, Bernard is dead. The body may have disappeared somehow, but my brother has been avenged."

"I don't know about that, Amiga…I mean, I believe you, of course, but why would Siroc lie…especially about something like this?"

"Good question…" They turned towards the inventor just as he and D'Artagnan were tossing the last shovelfuls of dirt onto Gerard's grave. Sensing doom, Siroc rammed the point of his shovel into the ground before making his way over to the pair, with the Gascon close at his heels.

"You two alright?" Ramon opened his mouth to answer, but Jacqueline beat him to it.

The angry young woman looked at Siroc. "Ramon tells me that, according to you, Bernard is still alive. But I know for a fact that he is not, seeing as I'm the one who put an end to his vile existence. So what's going on here, Siroc?"

Siroc sighed. "It's both, actually."

"What?" his comrades exclaimed in unison.

"Let me explain. Jacqueline, you did kill Bernard, there's no doubt about that. Problem is, he didn't stay that way. See, Bernard is part of a special race of human beings that are called, quite simply, immortals. Immortals begin life just as any other mortal, with all the same strengths and failings, most of them completely unaware of their potential. And don't go getting your hopes up you two," he said, glancing over at Ramon and D'Artagnan. "Only a very small percentage of the population is born with such potential. Anyway…if one such being should ever meet with a violent or otherwise unnatural death, his or her potential will be awakened, and that person will become, for all purposes, immortal. They'll never age, or get sick, and all injuries will heal at a greatly accelerated rate." Jacqueline stared down at her palm, remembering the incident with the nail, her mind reeling at the possibilities as she listened to Siroc. "While an immortal can be 'killed,' as Bernard was, the condition will only be temporary--at least, as long as their head is still attached. Any questions?"

Ramon closed in on the blonde, his Spanish temper beginning to flare. "Yeah, I'd like to know how it is you know so much about this--providing, of course, that it's even anywhere near the truth--and why you never told us about it sooner."

"I agree." D'Artagnan nodded. "If Bernard really is one of these 'immortals,' don't you think it would've been even the least bit useful to us to know how to get rid of him?"

Jacqueline remained silent, though she fixed a questioning gaze at the inventor. Siroc sighed again. He should've known it wouldn't be this easy. "Ramon, give me your dagger."

"What for?"

"Just give it here."

"Fine." Resignedly, the Spaniard handed over his main gauche. Siroc examined the blade for a moment and then, before anyone could stop him, plunged it into his own stomach. '_Gods, I really hate this part…_' He could just barely hear Jacqueline's terror-filled scream, mixed in with panicked yelling from the other two, as the world around him slowly faded to black…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Siroc!" Jacqueline cried out as she tried to rush forward, but Ramon held her back, tears staining his cheeks. D'Artagnan inched his way forward to the inventor's prone form, dropping down to his knees next to it. He pulled the dagger from Siroc's stomach, tossed it aside, then laid a hand on his neck in search of a pulse. Sadly, there was none to be found.

"H-he's gone…" D'Artagnan whispered, on the verge of tears himself.

"Crazy, arrogant, stupid gringo…what the hell were you trying to prove?" Ramon yelled at the corpse, not caring that Siroc could no longer hear him.

"Come on, Ramon," D'Artagnan muttered, slowly rising to his feet. "Let's go grab that other coffin from the barn…at least it'll be good for something…" Nodding, Ramon pulled away from Jacqueline. He and the Gascon started to walk away when, suddenly, a loud gasp came from the inventor's body. They whirled around in time to see Siroc roll over onto his side, coughing and wheezing. Jacqueline went to his side immediately. "Siroc…you're alright…."

"'Course I am. See for yourself." He lifted the bottom of his shirt, revealing smooth, unblemished skin where the dagger had pierced him.

"S-so…it's all true, then?" Ramon stammered. D'Artagnan just stared, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

"Every word. Bernard's immortal, I'm immortal…and so are you, Jacqueline."

"Figures," she muttered. "Should've guessed as much after what you said about the accelerated healing…not to mention your own miraculous recovery."

"Well, not that miraculous, really. It's happened so many times, I've lost count. And you two." He turned to Ramon and D'Artagnan. "You have to promise me that this doesn't go beyond the four of us. Not even Duval. If anyone else were to learn about this…about immortals…Jacqueline and I would be in grave danger. We'd be thought of as witches, or worse, and the chances are pretty good that we'd end up losing our heads over it. Trust me, I've seen it happen. You understand?" They nodded, too shocked to say anything. "Good." Slowly, Siroc climbed to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes as he did. Jacqueline quickly followed suit. Ruefully regarding the bloodstain on his uniform shirt, the inventor muttered something about a miracle stain remover as he pulled off the ruined garment and tossed it aside. He glanced up at the sky, his practiced mind automatically calculating the time based upon the positions of the stars and moon. "Whoa…talk about losing track of the time. Would you guys believe that it's almost three in the morning?"

"How can you tell?" D'Artagnan asked. "You don't have a watch."

"Let's just say I can remember when the mechanical clock was first invented."

D'Artagnan's jaw dropped. "How old _are_ you?"

Siroc shrugged. "Old enough." The Gascon was about to press further, but Ramon stepped in between them. He was holding a small golden pocket watch, one that Siroc was sure held some connection to his family back in Spain.

"He's right, amigos," the Spaniard announced. "It is nearly three. Perhaps we should turn in…figure things out in the morning."

"Probably a good idea. Back to the house, then?" Ramon nodded, as he and D'Artagnan turned and headed inside. A moment later, the Gascon paused, turning towards the immortals. "What's wrong? Aren't you two coming?"

Jacqueline shook her head. "I don't think so. After what happened, it's going to be a very long time before I set foot in there again."

Siroc nodded. "You two go on. Don't worry, I'll personally make sure nothing happens to her."

"Whoa…wait a minute." D'Artagnan strode towards them, and the inventor could see the proverbial green-eyed monster coming forth. "Who the hell died and made you her white knight?"

"Calmas, amigo…"

"Shut up, Ramon. Tell me, Siroc, just what the hell makes you think you're better equipped to protect her than the rest of us?"

"Well, for starters--"

"That's enough!" Jacqueline shouted, hands on her hips. "Listen to yourselves…standing here arguing over who's got the biggest…sword….For your information, I don't need protection--from any of you! I can take care of myself!" With that, she whirled around, running inside the barn and slamming the door behind her. The other three just stood there for several moments in awkward silence. Finally, D'Artagnan started after her, only to be stopped by Siroc's hand on his arm.

"Don't you think you've done enough for one night? You and Ramon go back to the house and get some rest. I'll talk to her."

"Fine," the Gascon snapped, glaring at Siroc. "But this isn't over."

"I didn't think it was. But it can wait until morning, after we've all had a decent night's sleep."

"I agree, amigo," Ramon said, grabbing D'Artagnan's arm. "See you then." The Spaniard escorted the Legend's son back inside the old Roget house. Once they were out of sight, Siroc turned and headed into the barn, where he found Jacqueline sitting once more upon the overturned bucket. Tentatively, he walked up and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Go away, Siroc," she muttered, not even looking at him.

"Jacqueline…"

"I said leave me alone!" She glared at him, shoving his hand away. Undaunted, Siroc shifted positions so that he was directly in front of her and knelt down.

"Look, I know you're upset and, frankly, I don't blame you. D'Artagnan could stand to take a few lessons in sensitivity."

Jacqueline snorted. "And where does that leave you?"

He sighed. "Well, if our comrade hadn't cut me off so rudely, I might've had a chance to explain myself."

"I'm listening…"

"Jacqueline, I…I know it sounded like I was implying that you were weak…that you were just a girl who needed the protection of men. But I swear to you that I meant no such thing."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh really?"

"Come on, Jacqueline. I know damn well that you're more than capable of protecting yourself. Hell, aside from myself and Duval, you're probably the best fencer in the garrison. But, good as you are, there are still some things you just can't handle on your own."

She narrowed her eyes as she looked at the inventor. "Would you be saying this if I really was a man?"

He nodded. "Yes, actually, I would. I didn't want to say anything in front of the others, but our immortality does come with a price. The moment you became one of us, you were entered into what is simply referred to as 'the Game.' Truth be told, though, it's not so much a game as it is a matter of life or death."

She gulped, involuntarily rubbing her throat. "You mean…beheading?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Why?"

Siroc shrugged. "No one knows, really. It's been going on as long as anyone can remember. A challenge is issued, two immortals meet in single combat with edged weapons, and the fight ends when one immortal loses his or her head. When that happens, the quickening--our life force, if you will--is released and absorbed by the victor, augmenting their strength and giving them access to the loser's knowledge, skills, and even memories. According to all the legends, this will go on until there is only one immortal left in the world, and that immortal will receive some sort of prize. No one really knows what that prize is, but if I had to guess, I'd say that, logically, it will be the power of all the immortals who've ever lived--give or take, of course, the ones whose quickenings are lost because there is no immortal nearby to receive them. Even so, I'd wager it would be enough power to rule the world."

"And there's no way out of it?"

"Not unless you want to spend the rest of your life on holy ground, which is the only place we're truly safe. And I mean any sanctified ground, no matter which deity it was consecrated to. Pagan temples, Buddhist sanctuaries, Islamic mosques, Jewish synagogues, cemeteries and, obviously, Christian churches are all good places to go if you're being hunted or just want to get out for awhile."

"Hunted?"

"Another not-so-pleasant part of our lives. Though most immortals--at least, most of the ones I know--choose to live relatively normal lives and only fight when challenged, there are some of us out there who actively seek other immortals. Headhunters, we call them. For the most part, they're obsessed with winning the Prize and want to gather as much power as they can in order to gain an advantage when it comes down to the final few. There are, of course, some who are simply psychotic and take heads just because they can. Hence the need for protection. I know you can best just about any mortal swordsman I could name, but, without proper training, you won't stand a chance against someone who's had centuries to perfect their skills."

"And you're going to train me, I take it?"

"Of course." Nodding, she got up and walked to the other side of the room, rubbing her temples. "You okay, Jacqueline?"

"I don't know, Siroc…I mean, it's all so overwhelming. Just a few hours ago, I was at death's door, and now you're telling me that I'm never going to die unless some lunatic comes along and chops off my head for the sake of some so-called game."

"Yeah, it is a lot to take in. I know I felt the exact same way when I first found out what I was."

"Did you ever ask why…why it was you who was chosen for this and not someone else?"

He nodded. "I did. And the best answer I've gotten came from my old friend Rebecca—who still lives in Paris, by the way."

"So what did this Rebecca have to say?"

"She told me that it was destiny…that some higher power--God, Zeus, Jupiter, Allah, Yaweh…whoever it is you believe in--decided to grant certain individuals this gift--"

"You mean curse--"

"Matter of perspective. Anyway…point is, we were both born into this because some omnipotent being or other decided that's how it should be. Now, I don't pretend to be any sort of expert on theology--hell, I barely even listened to our gods, and they preferred the direct approach-- but I'm pretty sure that there's a passage somewhere in your Bible that says something to the effect of 'God doesn't give us more than we can handle.' So you being immortal must mean that someone up there thinks you're ready and able to deal with what's to come. And, with a little help from me, I'm sure you'll be around for a very long time. But I'm not going to lie to you and say it'll be easy, 'cause it won't be. And I'm not just talking about the Game. As an immortal, sooner or later you'll be faced with the reality of watching those you care about grow old and die while you remain forever frozen in time, so to speak. And that's not something even I can prepare you for…I mean, there really is no way to possibly prepare yourself to deal with that sort of loss…parents, spouses, friends, adopted children…"

"Adopted?"

He looked her in the eye. "That's the other catch. Because we possess true immortality, there's no need for us to create any sort of lineage. Thus, we are unable to father or bear children."

"Oh….So I'll never be a mother? Not that I'm really sure I want children, but I would've at least liked to have had the choice."

Siroc sighed. "Actually, you never did. Even pre-immortals are barren…our bodies' way of preparing for the inevitable, I suppose. I'm sorry."

She laughed harshly. "You say that as if this is your fault…which reminds me…there is something that's been bothering me ever since you first brought this all up."

"What's that?"

"Well, you said that one has to die in order to become immortal, right?"

"That's true. Why?"

"The last thing I remember before waking up is you putting my head in your lap and telling me to go ahead and sleep. Tell me the truth, Siroc. Did… did you…kill me?"

"Yes." She stalked over to where he knelt, hauled him to his feet, and slapped him hard enough to turn his head.

"You knew what would happen, didn't you?"

He nodded. "Since the moment you first walked into the garrison and challenged D'Artagnan."

"And you still did it…without even asking me if this was what I wanted?"

"You were already dying, Jacqueline, but the process was so slow I feared it would be too much like natural death to trigger your immortality. I hardly had any time for explanations, so I simply told you I had a way to save you, and asked you if you'd like me to try. You didn't want to die, so you agreed. Tell me…even if you did know what I was doing and what would happen after, would your answer have been any different?"

She stayed silent for several moments, considering his words, before finally shaking her head. "Probably not. But that's beside the point. You lied to me, Siroc."

"I didn't lie…I just didn't tell you the whole truth."

"As the Holy Fathers say, a lie of omission is still a lie. You should've said something, Siroc…given me a real choice instead of essentially taking the decision out of my hands. I'm not some helpless woman without a mind of her own, you know."

"I know…and you're right. I'm sorry…I just wasn't ready to lose you…"

"I appreciate that, Siroc, and I am grateful to you for saving me…I'm just not sure I'll ever be able to forgive you for your deception." With that, Jacqueline turned and headed towards the barn doors. Quickly, Siroc ran up and gently grabbed her arm.

"Look…it's late, and we're all pretty tired. Why don't you just try and get some sleep…maybe you'll feel differently in the morning."

"I've had enough 'sleep' for one day, thank you. What I need is to take a walk…clear my head a bit."

"That's not a good idea, Jacqueline. Bernard could still be out there, and if he catches you alone and unarmed…"

"What would you suggest then?" she asked, glaring.

"The barn is all yours…I'll just sleep outside. Would hardly be the first time…" Not waiting for a response, he slipped through the doors himself, closing them behind him. Minutes later, the strange sensation in the back of her head faded as well. Finally alone, she wandered over to an old, broken-down stall that, years ago, had been home to her very first pony--Lancelot. Jacqueline briefly flashed back to that happier time, but soon the memories slipped away and the present came roaring back full-force. She curled up in a pile of worn-out horse blankets piled in the rear corner and finally let the tears come, eventually crying herself to a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sunlight glared down onto Jacqueline's face through a hole in the roof and, moments later, her headache returned. She shot to her feet, instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn't there. Her eyes warily scanned the room, making their way to the barn door just in time to see Siroc enter with D'Artagnan and Ramon. On meeting the inventor's eyes, the headache faded and she finally allowed herself to relax.

"Looking for this?" Ramon asked, holding up her rapier and baldric, which he'd found forgotten in the house.

"Yes. Thank you, Ramon." Glaring at the other two, Jacqueline quickly approached the Spaniard and reclaimed her blade, returning it to its customary place. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" She headed for the door only to find her path blocked by Siroc.

"Where are you going?"

"Thought I'd take that walk." She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"I told you last night that going off alone is a bad idea."

"Last night, I was unarmed." She pulled her sword and placed the blade against the inventor's throat. "As you can see, that's no longer true. Now let me pass." Quicker than any of them could've anticipated, Siroc's left palm slammed into her wrist, snapping it and causing the sword to drop. He then grabbed her arm and, in one swift motion, twisted underneath it and used the momentum to throw her over his shoulder to the floor. There was a loud crack on impact as Jacqueline felt a couple of her ribs break. Still holding her arm, Siroc then twisted it painfully behind her, forcing her onto her stomach as he straddled her waist to hold her there. Moments later, she felt the unmistakable sensation of a blade against the back of her neck. Jacqueline twisted her head around as far as she could to look, and what she saw in Siroc's eyes was a sort of cold fury, the likes of which she'd never before witnessed in the normally docile inventor. Glancing past him, she watched as D'Artagnan pulled a pistol and aimed it at the blonde's back.

"Put the gun down, boy," Siroc commanded, without even looking. "You'd just be wasting what I'm pretty sure is the last of your powder." The Gascon glared for a moment, then lowered the gun and let it drop from his fingers. "That's better. Now…" He rolled Jacqueline over so that he was looking directly into her eyes without her having to twist around. "Listen to me, Jacqueline, and listen well, as this is the last time I will waste my breath on this concept. What I just did…that took me centuries to perfect. Just how many isn't your concern. Point is, I've been around a long time, and Bernard even longer. So if I can take you down this quickly, just what the hell do you think he'll do? And keep in mind that, unlike me, he'll more than likely be looking to take your head."

"I-I see your point."

"Do you now?" Shifting his position again, he scooted back so he was sitting on her thighs. As she sat up he placed blade just underneath her jaw, at which point she realized that it wasn't a musketeer sword, but something from a far different time and place. She didn't have much time to think on it, however, as Siroc leaned in so closely that she could smell last night's dinner on his breath. "This isn't a game, Jacqueline. I don't care how good you think you are with that blade…if I really wanted to, I could take your head off right now and there wouldn't be a damn thing either you or them could do to stop me. Am I making myself clear?" She nodded. "Good. Now pay attention. Whatever public persona he's crafted for himself, the true Bernard is very old and VERY dangerous. Therefore, you are not--I repeat, NOT--to go anywhere alone until I say otherwise."

"That's not--"

"Not what? Fair? Well, too bad. Much as I like you, I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here to prepare you for what's to come, and if I have to break a few bones in order to drive my lessons home, believe me, I won't lose any sleep over it. As I was saying, until I feel you're fully prepared to deal with another immortal on your own, you are not to travel anywhere without me as an escort. Especially not into the forest. Too many places to set up an ambush. See, the only warning we get when another of our kind draws near is the headaches…which I'm sure you've already been experiencing in my presence since you revived. However, even that warning will do you no good if you don't have a clear view of where the attack is coming from. And with Bernard already on the warpath…do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes."

"And are you going to try and run off again anytime soon?"

"No."

"Good girl, you're learning." The familiar gentleness returned to his features and, stashing the strange sword under his jacket, the inventor stood up and offered her his hand, which she took, allowing him to help her back to her feet. As soon as she was standing, Jacqueline let go of Siroc's hand just in time to see a black and grey blur streak past and tackle the blonde to the ground. The blur turned out to be D'Artagnan, who immediately straddled Siroc's waist and started punching him in the face. She screamed for him to stop, but her plea went unheeded as Siroc's head shot up and slammed into the Gascon's nose, sending him backwards. They both stumbled back to their feet, then D'Artagnan charged Siroc once more, only this time the inventor was too quick for him. He sidestepped the charge, and then wrapped one arm around D'Artagnan's throat while pressing the other one into the back of his neck. The Gascon started to go limp, but then surprised Siroc by suddenly swinging his leg backwards to collide with his groin. He released his grip on D'Artagnan and dropped to his knees, clutching the injured area as he gasped from the pain. The Legend's son took a moment to catch his breath before kicking out again, this time aiming for the inventor's jaw. Luckily, Siroc was able to collect himself in time to grab the incoming foot and twist, sending D'Artagnan to the floor. Rising to his feet, he glared at the Gascon's prone form as he finally wiped the blood from his mouth from where D'Artagnan had punched him. Seconds later, the prone musketeer started to move again, as if trying to rise.

"Stay down, boy," Siroc growled. "I don't want to hurt you, believe me, but I will if you force my hand." D'Artagnan continued to rise anyway, and the inventor dropped back into a defensive stance. The Gascon charged again and Jacqueline, seeing something that Siroc missed, quickly stepped in between. There was a collision of bodies and, a moment later, Jacqueline collapsed to the floor with a dagger sticking out of her stomach.

"My God," D'Artagnan stammered, staring at his fallen comrade in disbelief. "W-what have I done?" The words were barely out of his mouth when Ramon rushed forward and grabbed him, dragging him to the opposite wall and pinning him there. Meanwhile, Siroc ran to the side of his student. He removed the dagger and, sitting on the floor, gently pulled her head into his lap. A brief touch to her neck told him that she was gone. "She…she's going to be alright, isn't she?" the Gascon asked, craning his head to see past Ramon's.

Siroc sighed, fixing the Legend's son with a cold, angry gaze. "Lucky for you, we aren't that fragile. You, on the other hand…" Carefully setting Jacqueline's head aside, he stalked over to D'Artagnan and, in one swift motion, snapped his nose back into place. The Gascon cried out in pain, glaring at the inventor.

"What was that for?"

"A reminder--Jacqueline and I may be hard to kill, but that's hardly true for everyone. If that had been Ramon who'd stepped between us, you'd be guilty of murdering a fellow musketeer, not to mention a friend."

"That's right, amigo," the Spaniard chimed in. "That could be me laying there. What in Dios name were you thinking?"

"I…I don't know. I saw Siroc attack her and…and I just lost it."

Siroc sighed again, then smacked D'Artagnan upside the head. "Number one, don't bother using that as an excuse. You've been acting like a spoiled brat since last night when I suggested that I'd be better suited to protect her than you--which, by the way, is still true. Secondly, I wasn't attacking Jacqueline, I was teaching her. My methods are harsh, I admit, but they work. Either way, though, it's none of your concern. I'm trying to keep her alive, and if you really cared about her as much as you claim, then you'd stand back and let me do what needs to be done. Your actions today were selfish, irresponsible, and could've gotten someone killed. I won't report you to Duval, but I think you should head back."

"No way!" D'Artagnan yelled, his bravado returning. He tried to push past Ramon, but the Spaniard held fast.

"He's right, compadre. It's time to leave. So I suggest we get out of here before our amiga wakes up and kills you." With that, he dragged the Legend's son away from the wall and pushed him through the barn doors. He started to follow, but the inventor grabbed his arm.

"You don't have to leave, Ramon. Just him."

Ramon shook his head. "It's alright, Siroc. After all, someone needs to keep him out of trouble. See you both back at the garrison?"

Siroc nodded. "Count on it." The Spaniard left, and Siroc returned to Jacqueline's side just as she was coming around. She sat up, muttering a few unrepeatable curses aimed at the arrogant Gascon as she examined her now-ruined shirt. Kneeling down, the elder immortal gently laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Of course not…D'Artagnan just stabbed me…he actually stabbed me…" She looked up at Siroc. "Where is he? I could kill him…"

"He's on his way back to the garrison with Ramon. Don't worry, I already talked to him about it, and I highly doubt he'll be trying that one again anytime soon."

"Good….You wouldn't happen to have any extra shirts, would you?"

Chuckling a little, Siroc glanced down at his torso, covered only by his musketeer jacket, and then back at her. "Does it look like I have any extra?"

"Oh yeah…"

"There's probably some in the house though. If you want, I could go in and grab a few."

"Could you?"

"Of course." With that, he turned and headed out of the barn, returning several minutes later with an armful of white cloth. He handed her one piece, which turned out to be one of Gerard's old shirts, before turning around like a gentleman and donning the other. She quickly did the same, stashing the bloodied one underneath some hay.

"So," she asked, rising to her feet. "What now?"

He turned back around, flashing her a sympathetic smile. "That depends on you, actually."

"What do you mean?"

"I do have a plan--one that involves the second coffin I made--but it demands a pretty big sacrifice on your part, and I don't want to force you to do something like that against your will."

"Exactly what kind of 'sacrifice' are you talking about?"

"Renouncing any and all claims to the identity of 'Jacqueline Roget' and spending the rest of your life--or, at least, the next couple of decades--living solely as your male alter-ego." She sighed, her mind awhirl in thoughts. Could she really give up any chance she might've had to finally stop hiding and live as herself? '_Then again, either way I'd still be in hiding. After all, I can't tell just anyone about being immortal. And am I really giving up that much? I mean, as long as I keep my head, there's always a chance that a time will come when I can live the life I want to as a woman. So perhaps a few decades living as a man won't be so bad…_'

She nodded. "Alright. What's the plan?"

"It's quite simple, really. We bury the other coffin in your name--next to Gerard, of course--with a little surprise inside for anyone that might come looking for proof."

"What kind of surprise?"

"Help me get this coffin outside and I'll show you." Nodding her agreement, she followed Siroc over to the worktable and assisted him in carrying the crude wooden casket over to the family plot. Much to her surprise, a hole had already been dug right next to where Gerard had been laid to rest.

"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" she inquired, eyebrow raised, as they set the coffin down.

He shrugged. "Never really needed that much, to be honest. 'Course, I suppose it comes from having been raised a slave. Back then, a good night's sleep wasn't exactly a priority."

"You were a slave?"

"Yes. Back when I was mortal. But it was a long time ago…a very long time ago. Excuse me…" He went behind a nearby tree, emerging a moment later with something in his arms. As he drew closer, she could see the squirming form of what was probably the most pitiful looking goat she'd ever laid eyes on.

"Where'd you get him from?"

"Bought him off one of your neighbors this morning."

"Why?"

"Remember the little surprise I mentioned?"

"Yes, I…you're not going to kill him, are you?"

"Would you rather I buried him alive?"

"Of course not. It's just…when you said 'surprise,' I assumed you were referring to some new invention of yours."

He sighed. "I don't like it any more than you do, believe me. But look at him, Jacqueline. Not exactly a healthy goat we're dealing with. We'd be doing him a favor, really. And at least this way, he'll get a proper burial out of it instead of ending up on tomorrow's menu. No offense, but I thought that, being a farmer's daughter, you'd be used to this sort of thing."

"I may have been raised on a farm, but I always hated it when the animals had to be slaughtered."

Siroc nodded in understanding. "It's alright. You don't have to watch if you don't want to. But trust me, it's for the best."

"Okay." She watched Siroc pull out a knife, then quickly turned around, closing her eyes and covering her ears for good measure. An eternity passed and, finally, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"It's done." Opening her eyes and lowering her hands, she turned to see what was left of the poor goat laid out inside the coffin. Siroc pulled a small leather pouch from his jacket pocket and began sprinkling the contents over the corpse--just as she'd seen him do for Gerard.

"What's that?"

He held the pouch up. "This?" She nodded. "It's called lye."

"What is it for?"

"Old Roman trick," he explained, putting the pouch away. "See, what it does is exponentially increase the rate of bodily decomposition in the recently deceased."

"Huh?"

"It makes the bodies rot faster. The Romans used it all the time…helped them stuff quite a few bodies into the catacombs. Of course, the lye also creates a horrible stench, which is why the emperor eventually banned it. But it is quite handy when one needs to fake their own death. By the time anyone starts snooping around--provided, of course, that the stench alone isn't enough of a deterrent--there won't be enough left of the goat for anyone to tell just who or what was buried here."

"And you really think this will fool Mazarin…especially with Bernard in his employ?"

He sighed. "Truth is, I'm not looking to convince Mazarin of anything."

"Then how will this help me?"

"Louis' coronation will take place in about a week's time. If we can convince him, with or without proof, that Jacqueline Roget is dead and that you really are Jacques LePonte, then the cardinal will be of no consequence. Even with Bernard, his guards alone are nothing we can't handle. The problems would only come if both they and your fellow musketeers were looking to take you into custody."

"You want me to lie to the king?"

"Isn't that what you've been doing for the past year?"

"Yes, but…well…it was only supposed to be temporary…until I managed to clear my name. I was going to tell him the truth…eventually. And now you're telling me that I'm going to have to continue lying to him for the rest of his life. I'm sorry, but it just doesn't feel right…not to me, anyway."

Siroc flashed her another sympathetic smile, then put his arm around her shoulders. "I understand your loyalty to Louis, I really do. I feel the same way. But remember, you're also an immortal now, and your first loyalty is to your own kind. Hard as it is, we have to lie, even to those we serve, in order to protect our secret. As I told our comrades, if people found out that we existed, the consequences would be dire. There'd be witch hunts, and none of us would be safe from even mortals. Understand…Jacques?"

"Yes." With a heavy sigh, Jacqueline gently removed Siroc's arm and walked over to the still-open coffin, which was already starting to emit a bad smell. Taking a ribbon out of her pocket, she tied her hair back in the usual male fashion, after which she pulled her own dagger and sliced it off just above the tie. What she cut off, she tossed into the coffin with the goat.

"What did you do that for?" Siroc asked as he nailed the lid on.

"If I'm laying this part of my life to rest, it's only fitting that part of me should be buried as well. Besides, why torture myself with a daily reminder of the life I can no longer have?"

"You'll have it back someday."

"Perhaps…but not in this lifetime." Siroc nodded, and the two wordlessly began the process of burying her substitute. Half the work had already been done, so all that was left was to place the coffin in the hole and cover it. Once that was finished, Siroc took some scraps of wood and helped Jacqueline to make temporary markers for the sites. Two wooden crosses--one for Gerard and the other for herself. Tired, dirty, and sweaty, the two immortals retrieved their mounts, saddled them, and began the ride through the forest that would take them back to the city.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"You know, it's not that bad, really." Siroc glanced over at his companion, who looked back at him, confused.

"What's not that bad?" she asked.

"Your hair. It's a little hacked, but nothing Philippe won't be able to fix."

For the first time since becoming immortal, Jacqueline couldn't help but smile. "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd need the services of a barber."

"It does improve the disguise, though. Women generally don't wear their hair short."

"I guess this means I really am just one of the--" A shot rang out, catching her in the right shoulder and knocking her from her horse, which then bolted from the scene. Siroc leapt from his mount and rushed to her side, carefully pulling off her jacket and pushing her shirt collar aside in order to examine the wound.

"Looks like it went straight through. You're going to be fine, of course. Just try to relax and let it heal…" He trailed off as both of them sensed the presence of another immortal. Quickly, he helped Jacqueline move back so she was leaning against a tree and handed her a pistol before shooting to his feet, pulling the strange sword once more from his jacket. Moments later, a man in a red jacket emerged, riding a white horse--Bernard. "Beltranus…" Siroc snarled, radiating hatred that obviously went far deeper than the rivalry between the musketeers and the cardinal's guards.

"Well, well, well…look what I found. A musketeer pup and his bitch."

"What do you want?" the inventor demanded, moving his sword into a more threatening position.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bernard caressed Siroc's cheek with his riding crop, causing him to flinch before pushing the crop away with his blade.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, boy. You never were very good at it….Oh, I see…you haven't told your young friend about _us,_ have you?"

"Why would I tell her about something I've spent centuries trying to forget?"

"Oh my…I think I'm insulted." Faster than Siroc could react, Bernard whipped out his rapier and ran him through. Helplessly, Jacqueline watched it happen, and her mind briefly flashed back to the day her father was murdered. That's when it hit her--it had been him all along. Bernard had killed Claude Roget, then changed his appearance and identity after she'd 'killed' him. Remembering the pistol, she picked it up in her left hand, as her right shoulder still seemed to be in the process of healing, and rose to her feet. In the meantime, Bernard had dismounted and was approaching Siroc, who lay sprawled out on the ground with the sword still in his chest. The cardinal's captain broke the rapier in two, leaving a portion of the blade imbedded in the inventor's heart. He then produced an unusual sword of his own, raising it up as if preparing to strike the final blow. Jacqueline quickly cocked the pistol, aiming it at the red-coated immortal.

"Take him, Bernard, and I'll make sure you don't live to see another sunrise."

Lowering the blade, Bernard turned to her, amusement in his eyes.

"I should've figured you'd be one of us. After all, you and your father really did look nothing alike."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me, you murdering bastard?"

Laughing, he stepped over Siroc's prone form and approached her, stopping only when his chest made contact with the barrel of the gun. "He didn't tell you? And I thought teachers were supposed to be more informative. Not that it matters…" He raised his sword, and Jacqueline responded by poking the gun more insistently into his flesh. Bernard arched an eyebrow and returned the sword to its hiding place, clearly not intimidated. "You do know that you can't kill me with that thing, don't you?"

"Maybe not, but I can sure as hell slow you down until I find something that can."

"Oh really?" Faster than even Siroc could move, Bernard snatched the gun away, tossed it aside, then twisted around and latched onto her still-wounded shoulder. He squeezed hard, flooding her senses with an unparalleled agony that, quite literally, brought her to her knees. "Care to try that one again, girl?"

"Wha…what did you do to me?" she gasped.

"It's amazing what that obelisk can do once you know the true extent of its power. I merely infused one of my bullets with its energy…which, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, doesn't mix well with that of our quickenings. It disrupts our bodies' ability to heal, making certain methods of…persuasion…much more effective. But don't worry…the effects will wear off in a few hours. I've yet to find a way to make it permanent." He released his grip on her shoulder, but not before twisting that same arm behind her back and forcing her back to her feet. His other hand snaked its way over to her chest, only to grab hold of her cross rather than what she'd expected. "Thought you were clever, didn't you…sending this to the New World with that idiot brother of yours. A cunning move, to be sure, but not nearly clever enough." Before she had a chance to even wonder what he was talking about, Bernard let out a shrill whistle. Moments later, at least a dozen red-coated guards emerged from the woods on foot. "Take these two to the Bastille…find them a nice room in the lower dungeon."

One of the men…Lieutenant Loncrais, if memory served…looked down at Siroc's corpse and back at his captain in confusion. "Both of them, Sir? This one's dead."

"Did I ask you if he was dead, Loncrais?"

"No Sir."

"So what are your orders?"

"To take them both to the Bastille."

"Good. Now do it!" He shoved Jacqueline to the lieutenant, who quickly handed her off to two others. Both arms were wrenched behind her, and her wrists bound tightly together with a thin cord. At the same time, several other guards picked up Siroc's body and tossed it unceremoniously across the back of his own horse, tying it there like a prize stag.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Riding back to the garrison, D'Artagnan suddenly pulled his mount to a stop. Ramon quickly followed suit, giving his comrade a puzzled look.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm going back." He started to turn around, and the Spaniard quickly grabbed hold of the reins to stop him.

"Are you loco? After what happened…if Jacqueline doesn't kill you, then Siroc most assuredly will."

"I know. That's why I have to go back."

"I don't understand."

"I'm going to go apologize…beg if I have to. There's no way I'm going to let my idiocy ruin our friendship."

"Alright…if you say so, amigo." Ramon let go of the reins, shaking his head. "If you die, I can have your horse…right?"

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Sure. Just don't--"

"Eat him. I know," Ramon said, also laughing. "I'll meet you back at the garrison. No offense, compadre, but if you're going to risk incurring the wrath of Siroc, then I'd prefer to stay out of the line of fire."

"Chicken."

"I am what I eat."

"That explains a few--" A gunshot echoed in the distance, startling the pair. D'Artagnan glanced in the direction the shot had come from, then back at Ramon. "Jacqueline," he gasped, fear in his eyes.

"You don't know that."

"I've got a bad feeling about this, Ramon. Do you really want to take that chance?" Without waiting for a response, he turned his mount towards the shot and took off. Unwilling to let D'Artagnan take the risk alone and unsure of what else to do, the Spaniard quickly followed suit. A flash of red stopped them in their tracks, and the pair slid off of their mounts and crept in as close as they could.

"Take these two to the Bastille," they heard Bernard order. "Find them a nice room in the lower dungeon." The pair moved closer to see what was happening, and found themselves watching helplessly as Jacqueline was thrust into the arms of several guards, who then proceeded to bind her hands behind her. At the same time, Siroc, who appeared to be dead, was slung over the back of a horse and tied there. D'Artagnan drew his sword, preparing to charge in.

"What are you doing?" Ramon hissed, grabbing his arm.

"What does it look like?"

"You crazy Gascon…can't you count? There's thirteen of them, and only two of us."

"So what? Are you saying that we should stand here and do nothing while Bernard has our friends thrown in the dungeon?"

"Remember what Siroc said? Bernard is like him. You kill him, and he'll just come right back and kill you."

"Not if I take his head off first."

"And what makes you think you'll get the chance? I don't think the twelve other guards will just stand there and wait while you decapitate their leader. We'd both end up in the Bastille--providing, of course, that they don't kill us outright--and what good would we be to our comrades then?"

"I don't care." Shaking off Ramon's hand, D'Artagnan rose to his feet, only to find that the cardinal's men had already left with his friends. He swore loudly, glaring accusingly at the Spaniard. "Now look what you've done. You held me back, and now they're gone."

"But at least we know where they were taken, amigo. Come on, let's get back to the garrison. We'll report this to Capitan Duval. If anyone can come up with a better plan for rescuing our amigos, he can."

D'Artagnan sighed. "Fine. Let's go." Still seething, the Gascon turned and stalked back to his horse, Ramon close on his heels. No further words were exchanged as the pair mounted up, and the deafening silence continued for the duration of the ride back. On reaching the garrison stable, they leapt from their saddles, handing their mounts off to a couple of new recruits before heading down the hallway towards Duval's office. D'Artagnan reached the door first, and was about to knock when Ramon grabbed him and pulled him aside. "What now?"

"We have to get our stories straight first, amigo."

"What for?"

"Siroc said not to tell anyone else about immortals, including the capitan. And I don't think it would be wise to tell him that 'Jacques' is a girl, either."

"Alright…we leave out the 'immortal' bits, and, as for the rest…well, we'll just have to improvise."

"Improvise? This isn't exactly Rhapsody Night at the café."

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Why not? It always seemed to work well enough for Uncle Porthos."

"What's that, Private?" Immediately, both musketeers whirled around to see Captain Duval standing right behind them. And he did not look pleased.

"C-captain…sir…" D'Artagnan stammered, snapping to attention. "I-I'm sorry….I…uh…we…had no idea th-that you were there."

"Obviously. Now where in blazes have you two been? And, for that matter, where are LePonte and Siroc?"

"Actually, sir," Ramon chimed in, "that's what we need to talk to you about."

"I see….Office. Now." He pointed at the door with his cane and the younger musketeers opened it and filed inside. Duval followed them in, closed the door, and sat down behind his desk. "Alright, now what's this about?"

The two glanced at each other and, moments later, the Gascon began to speak. "Yesterday, Jacques received a letter from his brother Gerard, asking for a meeting. Gerard was supposed to be in the New World, so, of course, Jacques was worried. He went to the place his brother had specified and I, unknown to him, followed--just in case it was a trap. Now, I don't know exactly what happened--all the information I have is second-hand--but, from what I was told, Jacques arrived to find both Gerard and their sister--his twin--Jacqueline waiting for him. They were tired of waiting for him to get their names cleared and decided it was time to take matters into their own hands and kill Mazarin. Apparently, they offered Jacques one last chance to help them, and, when he refused, they knocked him out and Jacqueline took his uniform. I found them a short time later and, unfortunately, managed to mistake Jacqueline for her twin, so great is the resemblance between them. The three of us went to the Roget farmhouse to discuss plans and, not long after we got there, Bernard showed up with another guard and attacked. We were able to take them both down, but not before Bernard's companion wounded Jacqueline. Gerard and I got her into a bed, and then tied the captain up so he wouldn't cause any more trouble. I left Gerard in charge there and came back here to get Siroc and Ramon."

"Si." Ramon nodded in agreement. "And on the way there, we found Jacques in the woods in his underwear. That's when D'Artagnan figured out about the switch. Jacques was angry, but only until we told him that his sister was hurt. We got to the farmhouse as fast as we could, and when we arrived…it was horrible, Capitan. Bernard had slipped away, Gerard was dead, and Jacqueline was too far gone to save. Siroc tended to her as best he could while D'Artagnan and I buried Gerard. We couldn't move her, and leaving was out of the question, so we all wound up staying the night. By morning, she was gone as well. Jacques reclaimed his uniform, put his sister in her best dress, and we laid her to rest next to Gerard. On the way back, D'Artagnan and I got separated somehow from Jacques and Siroc, and neither of us realized it until we heard a shot some distance away. We followed the sound to find Bernard and his men arresting our comrades…said something about the lower dungeon. Unfortunately, we were vastly outnumbered, so we decided a strategic retreat was the best option and came back to report to you."

"So your comrades are in the Bastille?"

"Si, that's what Bernard ordered."

"On what grounds?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "None, as far as we know."

Duval growled in frustration, slamming his fist against his desk. "Mazarin's doing, I'd wager. He's probably trying to make us all look like criminals so we'll be disbanded. Well, I'll be damned if I let that happen. I'll speak to the King myself."

"Thank you, Sir. Is there anything we can do?"

"Si, Capitan. Let us help."

"You want to know what you can do, Privates?" They nodded. "Nothing. In fact, until further notice, you both are confined to the barracks."

"What?" D'Artagnan defiantly faced his superior. "Why? That's not fair!"

"I never said it was, Private. But I'm already two men down, and I'm not about to sacrifice two more on some hare-brained rescue scheme. Am I making myself clear?" They nodded once more, neither one looking very happy. Duval sighed, his features softening. "Look, I understand how you feel, I really do. All I'm asking is that, for the time being, you let me deal with this. I swear, as soon as I can figure out a good way for the two of you to help, you'll know. Okay?"

D'Artagnan started to open his mouth, but Ramon quickly cut him off. "Gracias, Capitan. We understand. Don't we, D'Artagnan?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good. You're dismissed. Oh, and Privates?" They paused in the doorway, giving the captain a confused look. "In the future, don't lie to me."

"What are you talking about?" D'Artagnan asked.

"You two…covering up for LePonte." He pulled a piece of parchment from his desk drawer, unrolling it to reveal the dreaded 'Wanted' poster with Jacqueline's face. "I know."

"You do?"

"Of course. Do you really think anything goes on in my own garrison that I don't know about?"

"Of course not, Sir. You…you're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

Duval chuckled. "And lose one of my best soldiers? Are you mad? Who else am I going to get to keep you humble? Don't worry…the story you two came up with will remain the 'official' version of events. But tell me…is she really hurt, or was that merely part of the story to justify her supposed death?"

"Jacqueline was wounded, Capitan, but it was only a scratch. Her brother wasn't so fortunate, though. We really did have to bury him, alongside whatever substitute Siroc came up with for her."

"I see…well, thank you for your honesty. Now, you're dismissed." Nodding, the two walked out of the office, closing the door behind them. Duval put the poster back in the desk drawer and stood up, absently scratching at a small bluish tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. He straightened his jacket, grabbed his cane and his baldric, and left the office, heading towards the palace.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Jacqueline tugged experimentally at the chains holding her to the wall, hoping against hope that they might come loose. Unfortunately, all she accomplished was making her shoulder hurt worse. Whatever Bernard had done to that bullet, the effects still hadn't worn off. She sighed, looking across the room at Siroc. The remains of Bernard's blade had been removed seemingly hours ago, but he still hadn't come to, and the sight of his lifeless form slumped against the wall, fettered in the same manner as herself, was unsettling. She knew that he'd be back, but that didn't stop her from worrying. Finally, a loud gasp, accompanied by the now-familiar sensation in her head, announced the inventor's return to the land of the living.

"Ugh…where am I?" he groaned, struggling to his feet.

"Three guesses, and the first two don't count."

"Ah…so Bernard has decided to play host. I see his idea of hospitality hasn't changed much."

"You know him, don't you…personally, I mean. He's not just someone you met in passing, or were warned about by an older immortal."

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Is that why you called him…what was it…?"

"Beltranus?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "That's what I knew him as…a long time ago."

"You said he was one of those headhunters, right? So why are we still alive?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Bernard is…he's an enigma. Just when I think I have him figured out, he goes and does something completely contradictory. My guess would be that there's something he wants from one or both of us that is somehow more important than our heads. Did he say or do anything odd--more so than usual, that is--after running me through?"

"I'm not sure where to begin with that one, the list is so long…though, come to think of it, he did seem pretty interested in my cross…said that giving it to Gerard had been a clever move, but not clever enough."

Siroc arched an eyebrow, confused. "Cross? What cross?"

"The one I've had since I was a baby."

"May I see it?"

"And exactly how do you propose I do that?" She lifted her hands slightly, indicating the chains that still bound them.

"Oh, right...not to worry…" After a fair bit of maneuvering, he managed to pull a small dagger from his shirtsleeve, which he used to work into the shackles on his own wrists. One by one they fell away, followed in short order by the ones attached to his ankles. Once he was free, Siroc quickly crossed the room and did the same for his student.

"Thanks," she said, rubbing her sore wrists. She glanced at the dagger, and a thought crossed her mind. "Wait a second…you had that the whole time?"

He shrugged. "Sorry…guess I wasn't thinking that clearly. Death does take a lot out of a guy, you know."

"Right…how silly of me…." She moved her arms around, attempting to get the blood flowing again. All she did, however, was send fresh waves of pain down her right side. And, in spite of her efforts to hide it, Siroc noticed the discomfort.

"How's the shoulder?"

"Fine."

"Liar. What happened? Hasn't it healed yet?"

She shook her head. "Bernard worked some kind of spell with that obelisk…something about infusing a bullet with its energy in order to keep me from healing quickly. It should wear off soon, or so he claims."

"Let me see." Without waiting for an answer, he carefully pushed her shirt collar aside to afford himself a better view of the wound. "Well, the bullet hole has healed itself, at least. With any luck, that means the pain will dissipate soon as well."

"I hope so."

"Me too. So…mind if I take a look at that cross now?"

"Go right ahead." She carefully lifted the chain from her neck and handed it to him. He held it up, allowing the cross to dangle in front of his face so he could examine it more closely.

"Hmm…that's odd."

"What's odd?"

"I've seen this type of cross before…thing is, the one I remember belonged to Richelieu. And I'd wager that Mazarin has one as well."

"That's impossible."

"Not really. I believe it has some connection to that secret order of theirs. What I'd like to know is how you wound up with one."

"I told you, I don't know. I've had it for as long as I can remember. And no, my parents were not involved in any sort of secret society."

"Are you sure? No disrespect intended, but the order _is_ a secret one, so what makes you think they would've told you about it if they were involved?"

"My father was a good man, Siroc. He would never have allowed himself to be led astray by someone so foul as Mazarin. Which reminds me…there's something else that Bernard said to me--the second time he's said it, actually--that's been bothering me. He told me that I don't resemble my father, and this time he implied that it should've been his first clue that I was one of you. Is there something you're not telling me?"

He sighed. "Sit down, Jacqueline."

"I'd prefer to stand, thank you very much." She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms as she glared at him expectantly.

"Very well…Bernard was right, partly. Claude Roget wasn't your father by blood, though that doesn't make him any less of one. Family is more than just blood, after all. See, just as we cannot father or bear children of our own, immortals are also not brought into this world in the same way that mortals are. We're foundlings, all of us. No one knows exactly how it happens, but we turn up in stables, or on the steps of churches, or in any number of other places and, if we're lucky, a decent family takes us in and raises us as their own. You were no different, but at least you had the good fortune to find a loving home."

She chuckled. "You make me sound like a pet."

"Never thought of it that way…but you understand what I'm saying, right?"

"Yeah." She sighed. "So…you have no idea where this cross came from."

"Maybe he doesn't…but I do." They both whirled around at the sudden intrusion to find Bernard standing in the doorway, the devil's own grin playing across his features. He strode into the cell, and the musketeers immediately backed up, Siroc instinctively placing himself in front of Jacqueline. The inventor slipped the cross back to her and pulled the dagger—the only weapon he had left, as his sword was most likely in enemy hands.

The captain laughed, effortlessly knocking the weapon from Siroc's hand. "You should know better than that, boy. Don't make threats you can't carry out."

"What's this all about, Beltranus?"

"Patience, boy. All will be revealed in due time. As for your cross, Mademoiselle, it happens to be one of mine…however; the story of how it came to be in your possession is not for me to tell. No matter…" He snapped Siroc's neck and shoved him aside, removing the barrier between himself and Jacqueline. "What that cross means, girl, is that you were meant for greatness."

She spit in his face. "If you think I'd ever join with you, then you're even crazier than I thought."

Bernard wiped the spittle from his cheek, then backhanded her across the jaw. "That was rude. And what makes you think I'm asking you to join me? You were meant to ensure the Order's greatness…and that hardly requires you to be a willing participant." He moved even closer to Jacqueline, only to have Siroc come back and tackle him to the ground. They rolled around a bit, both trying unsuccessfully to gain an advantage. Finally, Bernard managed to whistle, and the room swiftly filled with red-coated guards. Two of them latched onto Jacqueline's arms while several others pried Siroc away from their captain. He climbed back to his feet, glaring at both of his prisoners. "I try to be nice about this, and this is how you musketeer brats repay me? Well, 'nice' ends right now. You two," he said, pointing at the men holding Jacqueline. "Get this one secured--again--and do it properly this time! Any mistakes, and I'll have your hides!" The guards quickly went to work, chaining her to the wall just like before. Bernard whirled around to face Siroc, who was struggling fiercely against those restraining him. "As for this one, take him to the special room I've prepared down the hall. He and I need to have a nice, private conversation." The guards all nodded, and Jacqueline watched helplessly as they dragged an uncooperative Siroc from the room. Bernard, smiling once more like Satan himself, was the last to leave, pulling the heavy door closed with an ominous slam. She immediately started pulling on the chains again, but her efforts went unrewarded. The last of her energy was soon spent, and she slumped back against the wall, hanging her head in defeat as she sent up a silent prayer for Siroc's safety.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Duval strode down the hallway towards Louis' personal chambers, having arrived at the palace to find him not in the throne room. Protocol may have demanded that he let someone announce his arrival and wait to be granted an audience, but he didn't have time for such formalities. Reaching the bedroom door, he raised his cane and knocked twice.

"Just a minute!" Louis called from within. Minutes passed before, finally, the door opened to reveal the young monarch, naked save for a pair of loose trousers that had obviously been thrown on at the last second. Looking past him, Duval could see a young chambermaid trying, without much success, to hide under Louis' covers.

"I…uh…I'm sorry, Sire….I didn't realize you had company."

"That's alright," Louis said, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm sure you wouldn't be back here if it wasn't important. Just give me one moment."

"Of course, Sire." The door closed again and, moments later, the King re-emerged with a silk robe wrapped around his upper body.

"Now, Captain, what's this about?"

"Your Majesty, this morning, two of my musketeers were taken to the Bastille by the cardinal's guards."

"On whose orders?"

"Captain Bernard's, so I'm told, but I believe he was acting on Mazarin's behalf."

"Oh, really? And what reason would he have to arrest your men?"

"There's no official justification that I'm aware of, but it's likely that, with your coronation so close, this is simply a last-ditch effort by the cardinal to convince you to disband the musketeers. He wants you to believe that we're all criminals so that you'll be forced to rely on him for protection, giving him an extra measure of power."

Louis nodded. "Makes sense. I certainly wouldn't put it past him. Men who love power will do anything to protect it, and Mazarin is certainly one of those men."

"Very astute, Sire."

"Thank you. Just out of curiosity, which of your men were taken?"

"Privates LePonte and Siroc."

He chuckled. "Mazarin actually thinks I'd ever believe them criminals? LePonte is one of the most loyal musketeers I've known, and Siroc…well, to be honest, he reminds me a lot of Aramis, who was one of Father's favorites. I can't imagine him doing anything illegal or treasonous."

"Of course not. So what shall we do about it?"

"For starters, I'd like you to go find Cardinal Mazarin and tell him that his sovereign would like a word with him. And make sure he knows that it's not a request."

Duval smiled, glad for the chance to put Mazarin in his place. "Will do, Sire."

"Good. In the meantime, I'm going to go back and…finish my lesson. Marjorie happens to be an excellent tutor." He winked at Duval, then retreated once more to his chambers. Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, the captain tossed off a mock salute to the door before heading off to locate the cardinal.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In spite of his efforts at resistance, Siroc, now shirtless, bootless, and with his hands bound tightly in front, found himself practically being hurled into the room Bernard had indicated. He slammed into the far wall with a resounding crack and slumped to the floor, breathing heavily as he waited for his ribs to heal. As the bones were knitting themselves back together, his mind, like the well-oiled machine it was, automatically began assessing the situation. '_Room's probably about sixteen by sixteen, give or take. Walls are solid stone, at least six inches thick, maybe even a full foot. No windows, one door, guards standing right outside…even being immortal, my chances of escaping in one piece aren't looking too stellar…_' His ribs finished mending rather quickly and, just as the pain was starting to subside as well, Bernard entered. He signaled to a couple of his men, who immediately hauled Siroc to his feet and dragged him over to the center of room. There was an iron chain hanging from the ceiling, with a metal hook attached to the end. That part was pushed between his bound hands so that when Bernard started yanking on the other end, the hook caught the ropes and forced his arms to follow. The captain pulled to the point where Siroc's bare feet were scarcely touching the floor, then secured his end to some unseen point on the wall. He then dismissed the other guards and shut the door, trapping the inventor with him in near-total darkness, the only light being what was provided by the lone torch in the far corner. Even so, there was no mistaking the all-too-familiar look on Bernard's face as he removed his red coat, rolled up his sleeves, and picked up some indeterminate object before approaching his prisoner. As he drew closer, Siroc could see that said object was, in fact, a cat o' nine tails. Summoning all the strength his wiry frame possessed, he wrapped his hands around the chain, pulled himself up, and kicked out. He caught Bernard squarely in the sternum, sending him crashing into what he supposed was some sort of table near the door. This bought him just enough time to work free of the ropes binding his hands. He let go of the chain and dropped back to the floor just as his captor was recovering his feet. The torchlight glinted off of something in Bernard's hand, and Siroc realized too late what it was. With nearly inhuman speed, he had the inventor pinned against the wall, the blade of his ancient kopis at his throat.

"Did you really think you could escape me that easily, boy?"

"Worth a shot." Bernard smacked him hard across the jaw, then pressed the blade even further into his throat, drawing the slightest bit of blood.

"Insolent brat! How dare you speak to me in that manner! I should take your head just for that!"

"You wouldn't….The whole building would come down."

"You're right…which is why I'm simply going to remind you of your place."

"My place? This isn't Rome, Beltranus, and I'm not your slave anymore."

"This may not be Rome, boy, but you're always going to be mine." With that, he moved the sword away from Siroc's neck and plunged it into his stomach. The blade was quickly withdrawn, and the last thing he saw before blacking out was Bernard setting it aside and reaching once more for the cat.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: This chapter contains scenes of torture, as well as (implied) sexual assault where both the attacker and the victim are male. I don't get too graphic, but if the notion offends you in any way, then I would strongly suggest that you skip the second section of the chapter (as denoted by the long page break lines—short ones denote flashbacks) and just read the first, third, and fourth. Thank you.**

"What's going on here, Captain?" Mazarin demanded. Duval, who'd been 'escorting' the cardinal to the throne room, simply shrugged.

"Sorry, Your Eminence, but you're going to have to take that up with the King. I'm just the messenger."

"Sure you are." Mazarin would've said more, but by that time they had reached the door to the throne room. Duval pushed past him and opened it.

"After you." He gestured for the cardinal to enter, and Mazarin brushed by without sparing the musketeer captain a second glance. But as soon as he entered the main chamber, he stopped dead in his tracks, mouth hanging open in a rather undignified gesture of shock. Duval, only two paces behind him, stopped as well, grinning. Louis was on his throne, as expected. However, instead of sitting ramrod straight like his mother and tutors always insisted on, he was lounging, one leg hooked over the arm while the other dangled off the seat, his right arm resting on his knee, and his left draped over the chair's other arm. And his clothes…he'd obviously dressed himself for the occasion rather than let someone do it for him, opting for a pair of simple black breeches, a loose-fitting white shirt, and his favorite blue vest, which had been left unbuttoned. The most striking change of all, though, was the fact that he'd dispensed with the powdered wig, allowing the sunlight to bathe his natural brown locks. In Duval's opinion, the young monarch exuded far more power and confidence like this than he ever had as the preening fop everyone kept trying to turn him into. And Mazarin obviously agreed, as he kept opening and closing his mouth, seemingly unable to form a coherent sentence. Catching Duval's eyes, Louis nodded. The captain returned the nod and backed into the hallway, leaving the King alone with his prime minister. As soon as the elder musketeer was gone, Louis slid gracefully from the throne and stalked over to the gaping cardinal.

"Oh, do close your mouth, Mazarin. It's not a good look for you."

"I-I'm sorry sir. It's just…your greatness is…especially radiant today."

"And enough with the flattery."

"My apologies, your Grace." Hands clasped behind his back, Louis walked a full circle around the cardinal, sizing him up. Mazarin sighed. "Pardon, Sire, but why exactly did you ask me here?"

Coming to a halt, the King stared directly into Mazarin's eyes. "It has come to my attention that a couple of arrests were made this morning by your men."

"A couple of ruffians, Sire. Nothing you need to be concerned about."

"In case you've forgotten, Mazarin, the people _are_ my concern. As are the musketeers. According to _my_ sources, those so-called ruffians were two of Captain Duval's men. Privates LePonte and Siroc, to be precise."

"Should we excuse their crimes simply because they wear your uniform?"

"And what crimes would those be?"

"High treason."

"Can you be a little more specific?"

"I have the matter well in hand, your Majesty. As I said, it's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Louis crossed his arms, glaring. "I'll make that decision, Mazarin, not you. Unless you can give me definitive proof that LePonte and Siroc are traitors, I demand that they be released immediately."

"I'm sorry, Sire," the cardinal said, averting his eyes. "I'm afraid that their executions are already set for tomorrow morning."

"Without my approval?"

"Again, I apologize. I just didn't think it was--"

"Any of my concern? I am a young king, Mazarin, but I _am_ King. You would do well to remember that."

"No offense, Sire, but you won't really be King for another week."

"A few days, Cardinal? You would dare defy me over such trivialities?"

"Of course not, Sire. I didn't mean--"

"Don't lie to me," Louis snapped, eyes blazing in fury. "Now go. And if you don't find some way to get my musketeers out of the Bastille, then they'll hardly be the only ones losing their heads tomorrow. Understand?" Mazarin nodded, and Louis could've sworn he saw actual fear in his eyes. "Good. Oh, and Mazarin? I suggest you start praying, if it is indeed God whom you serve, because if you can't come up with a truly excellent reason to justify your continued presence in this court after my coronation…providing, of course, that you live that long…you'll be on the first ship back to Sicily. Dismissed!" With a slight bow, the cardinal turned on his heel and fled the throne room. A moment later, Duval walked back in. "Did you hear all of that, Captain?"

"Every word, your Majesty."

"And what do you think?"

"Frankly, I'm impressed. You handled yourself magnificently. Your father would be proud."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Thank you. But what about Mazarin? Think he's really going to release your men?"

Duval shook his head. "Not a chance, Sire. He's up to something, I know it."

"I agree. So what would you suggest as our next move?"

"Well, I know that Privates D'Artagnan and De La Cruz are more than willing to help. However, I also fear that they may be too close to the situation."

"Perhaps. But if we're going to take on the cardinal and his guards, we'd be fools to turn away any such volunteers."

"Of course. I just don't want them getting hurt because they're not thinking clearly."

"Hmm…well, those dungeons could always use a good cleaning…."

"I like the way you think, Sire. I'll get right on that."

"Good. Report back to me when it's done."

"Yes Sir." Duval saluted, then left to go carry out his orders. Smiling at his own brilliance, Louis grabbed an apple from one of the trays that had been left out and resumed lounging on his throne. He was glad his mother was still on holiday. She'd probably throw a fit, saying that this was not the way a king should behave. '_Why should my behavior matter, anyway?_' he thought. '_There's_ _so many more important things to worry about, and as long as they get done, who cares how 'properly' I behave? And who decides what's 'proper,' anyway? Oh, that's right…I do. After all, I _am _King._' He finished his apple and, tossing the core aside, left the throne room to find Marjorie.

XXXX**WARNING**XXXXX

A searing pain lanced through Siroc's torso, jolting him back to consciousness. He was hanging by his arms once more, hands now bound to the chain by a wet leather thong. Another jolt of pain wracked his frame, accompanied by the voice of his worst nightmares.

"**_Quisnam_** **_est vestri dominus_**? (who is your master?)"

"**_EGO servio haud vir_**. (I serve no man.)" Still hiding in the shadows, his tormenter cracked the whip against his bare flesh yet again and repeated his question. "**_Peto_** **_abyssus_**! (go to hell!)" Something hard slammed into Siroc's jaw, cracking it. Before it had a chance to fully heal, Bernard's hand wrapped around his throat, cold eyes boring straight into his soul.

XXXXXXXX

Britannia, c. 51 A.D.

Siroc cowered in the corner of his master's tent, his five-year-old body trembling with terror as the centurion drew ever closer. He knew he was in trouble, but, for the life of him, couldn't figure out why. All he had done was tell that other slave his name. Beltranus latched onto his tiny arm, yanked him to his feet, and dragged him to the pole at the center of the tent. His hands were tied to it so far above his head that his toes were barely scraping dirt, and his tunic was unceremoniously ripped away. The next thing Siroc knew, his whole body felt like it was on fire as the master's _flagrum_ tore into his tender flesh. Tears sprang to his eyes as a second blow was delivered, and he silently prayed to Gobannus for protection.

"**_Quis_** **_est vestri nomen , puer_**? (what is your name, boy?)" Beltranus demanded, staying his hand for the moment.

"S-Siroc." The _flagrum_ descended again, eliciting an agonized scream. His master repeated the question, and he answered the same way, resulting in yet another blow. This happened several more times, creating rivers of warm, sticky blood across the boy's back. Darkness tugged at his consciousness and, just before passing out, Siroc gave the centurion the answer he was seeking. "**_EGO sum nemo_**. (I am no one.)"

XXXXXXXX

Present

The all-too-familiar burning sensation along his back jolted Siroc from his mental wanderings. Several more blows followed in quick succession before Bernard stepped in front of him once more.

"**_Quisnam_** **_est vestri dominus_**?" Siroc reared back and spat in the face of his former master. With an enraged roar, Bernard punched him in the stomach hard enough to double him over were he not hanging by his arms. Wiping the spittle away, he pulled a filthy rag from his pocket, knotted the center, then shoved said knot into Siroc's mouth and tied the ends behind his head.

XXXXXXXX

Britannia, c. 53 AD

Siroc stood tied spread-eagled between two poles, the acrid smoke from the large bonfire filling his lungs and making his eyes water. A filthy rag had been shoved into his mouth, so he couldn't even speak in his own defense. Rather, he could only watch helplessly as Beltranus paced in front of him, clutching the small carving of Gobannus that had been discovered among the few things that could actually be called 'his.' Siroc hung his head, knowing full well what was in store. In Beltranus' camp it was forbidden for anyone, soldier or slave, to pay homage to any god other than Mars. Fortunately for him, though, the punishment he faced for worshipping the Celtic smithing god wouldn't be nearly as severe as what would await him had he been one of those who followed that new religion—Christians, if memory served. When Beltranus found one of them, they would be beaten, disemboweled, and left in the woods for the wild beasts--sometimes even while they still lived.

A sharp slap brought the boy from his musings, and he looked up to see the carving being waved in front of his face.

"**_Aditus_**! (ingrate!) **_Quam praesumo vos_**! (how dare you!)" Slapping him once more, the centurion pulled the carving back and turned to the others who'd gathered to watch the spectacle. "**_Intueor_** **_eventus illorum quidnam ausus barbarus dei_.** (observe the fate of those who dare worship barbarian gods.)" He threw the carving into the flames, then nodded to his lieutenant. The back of Siroc's tunic was ripped open and the _flagrum_ descended on his bare flesh, Beltranus counting aloud with each stroke. Siroc held on as long as he could, but soon found himself screaming into the gag as the pain became unbearable. By the fifteenth stroke, he mercifully fell into unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXX

Present

As Siroc returned from his latest detour down memory lane, he felt his captor's warm breath on his right ear.

"Why must you keep fighting me?" Bernard asked, speaking French once more. "You know what I _really_ want." He ran his hand down Siroc's bare stomach, laughing as he flinched.

XXXXXXXX

Britannia, c. 54 AD

Siroc cautiously entered the master's tent, unsure of what to expect. He'd heard rumors from the other slaves, and as he walked in he prayed to every god he could think of that they were just that--rumors. That hope was dashed when he saw Beltranus lying on his cot, clad in a red silk robe instead of his usual armor.

"**_Adveho_** **_hic , puer_**. (come here, boy.)"

"**_Haud_**. (no.)" He shook his head, slowly backing towards the tent flap. Beltranus shot to his feet.

"**_Inquam_** **_adveho hic_**! (I said come here!)

"**_Haud!_**" Siroc bolted for the exit, but the centurion was faster. He grabbed the boy's ankle, sending him to the ground. Rolling him over, Beltranus straddled his waist and bound his wrists with a leather thong. Siroc tried to resist, but his master was stronger. Hands bound, he found himself being hauled to his feet, dragged over to Beltranus' cot and thrown onto it face down, trapping his arms underneath. The master put one hand on the back of his neck, pinning him in place, while the other pushed his tunic just above his waist….

XXXXXXXX

Present

Shaking off that last recollection, Siroc kicked out at Bernard, trying to drive him back. Unfortunately, the elder immortal dodged it effortlessly before reaching out and seizing his chin.

"That's enough out of you, boy. Either you give me what I want, or I'll be taking it from your young friend--over and over again. Is that clear?" The inventor stared into the captain's eyes, trying to read him. It could've been a bluff…then again, in all the time he'd known him Bernard had never said anything he didn't mean. After a moment, he hung his head, resigned to whatever fate his former master had in store if it meant sparing Jacqueline from it. "Now, that's more like it…" Grinning like the madman he was, Bernard slipped behind his captive, tracing a line from Siroc's navel to the small of his back in a perversion of a lover's caress. The next thing the musketeer knew, his trousers were around his ankles. Tears sprang to his eyes as the memories of a thousand such violations surged forth, flooding his senses. He bit down on the gag to keep from crying out at the latest intrusion, but it did nothing to impede the living nightmare overtaking his thoughts. An eternity passed before the small part of him still conscious of the present felt the gag being removed. Warm breath passed his ear once more. "**_Quisnam_** **_est vestri dominus_**?" Bernard asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"**_Vos_** **_es_**. (you are.)" he replied, just as the past completed its conquest of his mind.

XX**END WARNING**XXX

D'Artagnan anxiously paced the length of the common room, occasionally pausing to stare out the window or examine his reflection in the small shaving mirror mounted on the wall. Dark bruises were starting to form around his eyes, a visible reminder of that morning's round of fisticuffs. He was lucky no one seemed to have taken notice, or else he'd really be in trouble. Around his tenth pass, an otherwise untouched chicken leg collided with his skull. Rubbing the spot where the bone had made contact, he turned and glared at Ramon. The Spaniard was sitting at the table, still with a full plate in front of him. "What was that for?"

"No offense, amigo, but your pacing is starting to get annoying."

"Too bad," he snapped. "What the hell else am I supposed to do? Jacqueline is locked in the dungeon, having God knows what done to her, and Captain Duval has us confined to the damned barracks!" D'Artagnan punctuated his tirade by punching the wall, only he wound up causing more damage to his knuckles than the stone. He reached back to do it again, as if hoping for a different result, but Ramon got up and grabbed his arm.

"That won't help, you know. I'm worried too, but right now, I think the best thing to do is just wait and see what Capitan Duval has planned. After all, he's never let us down before."

Glaring, D'Artagnan yanked his arm from Ramon's grasp and stalked over to the door.

"Maybe you're content to just sit around and do nothing, but I'm not. You can stay here and eat your damned chicken for all I care, but I'm breaking into the Bastille tonight to get her out, with or without help." He opened the door to leave and found Duval standing on the other side.

"Going somewhere, Private?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," he replied, staring defiantly at the captain. "Excuse me." D'Artagnan tried to push past Duval, only to have the captain push back.

"Not without this you're not." He thrust a piece of parchment into the Gascon's hands. A dungeon pass.

"What's this for?"

"You two are on cleaning detail, starting immediately."

"Wait a second," Ramon interjected, joining his comrade in the doorway. "What did I do?"

Eyes narrowing, Duval swiftly grabbed both of their collars and pulled them in close. "I need the two of you to search every inch of those dungeons and find your comrades. And I mean just find them. No--I repeat--NO heroics. Figure out where they're being held, then get out. Is that clear?" They nodded, and he released his grip. Not wanting to waste another second, D'Artagnan brushed right past the captain and headed towards the dungeons, stopping only to grab the expected cleaning supplies. Ramon was right on his heels. "And don't come back until it's done," Duval yelled down the corridor, in case anyone was listening in. As soon as they were gone, he made his way back to the palace to inform the King that everything was going according to plan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jacqueline stared up at the cell's tiny window, watching as the sun's rays slowly disappeared. Soon it was gone completely, leaving her very much in the dark. With a sigh, she sagged back against the wall, letting the chains hold her up as she gazed at shadows. Moments later, the lock on the door started to turn and she quickly pulled herself back to her feet, watching as it opened to reveal more red-coated guards. One, carrying a torch, walked in first and used it to light another mounted high on the wall, giving her at least some light.

A moment later, she found herself wishing he hadn't as a bound and bloodied Siroc was shoved into the cell. He stumbled to the wall opposite the door and collapsed just as Bernard was moving into the doorway. In the torchlight, Jacqueline could see blood coating the front of his white shirt, and she had a sinking feeling that it wasn't his own. Grinning at his own handiwork, Bernard turned his attention to her, signaling his men. One unlocked the shackles tethering her to the wall while the rest stood between her and their captain, their rifles trained on her chest. The bullets wouldn't kill her, but she still restrained herself for fear of what Bernard might do while she was out. Once the chains were off, she slowly moved towards Siroc while keeping her eyes focused on their captor.

"See you at dawn." Without further explanation, he turned and walked away, his men right behind. The last one to leave slammed the door shut and locked it. Alone once again, Jacqueline shuddered. Bernard's parting words were chilling, and rang eerily familiar. It took her but a moment to realize why.

XXXXXXXX

The cliffs, last year

Jacqueline, surrounded by her newfound comrades, watched helplessly as the masked men callously threw their bound and shirtless prisoner over the edge. He plunged to the bottom, screaming the whole way. A dark-robed man, obviously the leader, shrugged.

"Trial and error. Well, thankfully, we have plenty of specimens." He glanced over at Gerard.

She gasped. "I know that voice! It's Cardinal Mazarin!"

"The Prime Minister directing a secret society…" D'Artagnan mused. Ignoring him, Jacqueline started to rise, intent on protecting her brother. "Hey, wait!" He grabbed her arm, pulling her back down.

"Let me go!"

"No. You don't have a chance." Yanking her arm away, she turned back to the scene in time to see Gerard being dragged towards the cliff's edge. But just before he could share the other prisoner's fate, Mazarin held his hand up.

"No, wait. We'll keep him here tonight. Bring him to the sanctum before dawn. The text refers to the first light of the sun as being a propitious time. I want to see if it has any effect."

XXXXXXXX

"My God," she gasped, the realization slamming into her stomach like a stone. Her hand wrapped around the gold cross and, now aware of its true significance, she ripped it from her neck and threw it across the room, watching with grim satisfaction as the shadows swallowed it up. She then dropped to her knees next to her unconscious comrade, feeling along the floor for the dagger he'd dropped earlier. Finally, her hand closed on the smooth hilt and she took it up, using the blade to slice through the leather thong binding Siroc's hands together. Hiding the dagger inside her right sleeve, Jacqueline took a moment to assess the damage. Even in the dim torchlight, she could see the blood covering his back. She tore some cloth from the bottom of her shirt and wiped away as much as she could. The evidence of Bernard's recent efforts had long since healed, but his back was far from smooth. Scores of old wounds covered his flesh, hardly a spot left untouched. Jacqueline may never have been a slave, but she recognized the marks of the whip just the same. Gently, she pulled his head into her lap. His eyes were open, but showed absolutely no sign of recognition. He was staring blankly into the darkness, muttering to himself in Latin. Her own knowledge of the language was pretty basic, but she did recognize the words for 'master' and 'slave,' as well as a single name--Beltranus. "Oh, Siroc," she breathed. "What has he done to you?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Jacqueline softly stroked Siroc's blonde locks, murmuring soothingly to him in the hopes that a familiar voice might rouse him from his catatonic state. Unfortunately, her efforts were proving rather futile. Seeming hours had passed, and there was still no indication that his condition would be changing anytime soon. Bernard…Beltranus…whatever his name was…had really done a number on her comrade…had inflicted a torment upon him the likes of which she could scarcely dare to even imagine. And what's worse, she couldn't do a thing to prevent it…Bernard had made certain of that. Jacqueline growled, hating this feeling of utter helplessness and dreading what the elder immortal might have in store for her come dawn.

"Is it me, or is this place even filthier than it was the last time we were down here?" That voice! Her head shot up, eyes darting over to the door.

"It's not just you, amigo. Too bad Siroc hasn't finished working on that miracle cleanser. We could really use it right about now." For the first time in hours, Jacqueline allowed herself a small smile. She should've known those two wouldn't be able to stay away. Carefully setting Siroc's head aside, she rose to her feet and rushed over to the door.

"Over here!" she called. In moments, the tiny window near the top of the door opened and she found herself being drawn into a rather awkward--though not unpleasant--kiss by D'Artagnan. "Took you two long enough," she said, once they parted.

"Sorry, but the captain had us confined to the barracks. I think he was afraid we'd do something rash."

She arched an eyebrow. "This isn't rash?"

"Actually, amiga, we're here on the capitan's orders."

"Really?"

The Gascon nodded. "How are you two holding up?"

She sighed. "I'm doing about as well as can be expected, under the circumstances. Siroc, though…"

Ramon's face appeared in the small window, having shoved D'Artagnan out of the way. "Dios Mio! What happened?"

"I don't know….Bernard dragged him off to some other room for awhile, and when he was brought back…." She stepped aside, causing the Spaniard to gasp as he caught a good glimpse of his battered comrade.

"I-Is he…?"

"Alive? Far as I can tell. But his mind seems to be elsewhere, and I'm not sure when--or even if--he'll be coming back…it's as if he's trapped there." She returned to the window, looking out at her comrades once more. "Please tell me that you two are here to break us out."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Not yet, I'm afraid. I'd love to, you know that, but Captain Duval gave us strict orders. We're to find where you are and report back to him. That's all."

"Oh, hang the captain! Bernard's coming back for me at dawn, and I'm pretty sure he intends to sacrifice me as part of some ritual…like Mazarin was planning to do to Gerard last year. Personally, I'd prefer that Siroc and I were as far from here as possible by that time."

The Gascon sighed, glancing up and down the corridor. "Well, perhaps I could…" He pulled his dagger, preparing to work it into the lock, only to have Ramon take it away. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same question, amigo. Are you looking to get us all killed?"

"So you're saying I should stay here and wait for Bernard to have his way with me?" Jacqueline asked, glaring at the Spaniard.

"Of course not. I'm certain the capitan has a plan. And once we tell him what you told us…well…I'm pretty sure we'll have you out of here long before that coward can try anything."

"I hope so."

"We will…even if Ramon and I have to come back and break you out ourselves. In the meantime, maybe you can figure out how to bring Siroc back to us."

She nodded, even though nothing she'd tried so far had worked. The Gascon returned the nod and, with a sad smile, closed the small window. With them gone, Jacqueline returned to Siroc's side, more determined than ever to get her comrade back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"If that bastard harms even one hair on her head…"

"Don't worry, D'Artagnan. He won't get the chance."

"He better not." Practically growling, D'Artagnan charged down the corridor towards the exit. Ramon had to sprint to keep up with his single-minded companion. Unfortunately, the Gascon's anger blinded him to his surroundings, and he soon found himself running headlong into a couple of red-coated guards. One of them, a lanky creature with rat-like features, immediately pulled his blade and stuck the tip underneath D'Artagnan's chin. His squat, corpulent companion did likewise to the Spaniard.

"What are you musketeer brats doing down here?" Rat-boy demanded.

"Cleaning detail."

He laughed, lowering the blade a bit. "In trouble again, are we?"

D'Artagnan's eyes narrowed, along with his patience. "I fail to see how that's any of your concern."

Rat-boy raised his blade once more, poking it even more insistently into the Gascon's flesh. "You forget your place, boy. The musketeers have no authority within the Bastille."

"That's right," Tubbs chimed in, prodding Ramon with his own blade. The Spaniard shared a look with his comrade as they both covertly reached for the daggers hidden behind their backs. In seconds, the blades were between the legs of the redcoats, pressing into a particularly sensitive portion of their bodies.

"Care to re-think that, muchachos?"

A look of panic crossed the guards' faces. They immediately dropped their swords and put their hands in the air.

"That's better," D'Artagnan grinned. He and Ramon quickly relieved the guards of their pistols and backed them into an empty cell, locking them inside. "Come on. The sooner we get back to the garrison, the better." The Spaniard nodded, and the pair quickly made as discreet an exit as they could.

A half-hour later, the younger musketeers came barreling into Duval's office. "Captain, we--" Realizing that the elder musketeer wasn't alone, D'Artagnan shut his mouth. Duval's guest turned around, eliciting a gasp from the privates. It was the King himself. "My apologies, Sire. We'll come back later."

"Nonsense," Louis said, rising from his chair. "I assume you have news of LePonte and Siroc's whereabouts."

"It's alright, son," Duval nodded. "His Majesty just wants to help."

"Really?"

Louis walked over and placed a hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder. "Of course I do. You four are the bravest, most loyal musketeers I've ever known. Now, what have you found out?"

He sighed. "Captain Bernard has them locked away at the far end of the lower dungeon. Most of the surrounding cells are empty, and the number of guards is surprisingly low for supposed traitors."

"Sounds pretty suspicious," Duval mused. "It's like he's hiding something. Anything else we should know?"

"Just one thing, Capitan. Jacques said that Bernard…or possibly Mazarin himself…is planning some sort of ritual at dawn, with him as the intended victim."

Louis let out an undignified squeak. "Do you really think Bernard would actually sacrifice your comrade to some heathen god?"

"Wouldn't put it past him," D'Artagnan muttered.

"Nor would I, amigo. Look at what he did to Siroc."

"What are you talking about, Private?"

The young musketeers looked up at the sudden intrusion, almost as if they'd forgotten Duval was in the room. "Bernard…he beat him, Capitan…so badly that he seems to have withdrawn into himself. Siroc…it was like he didn't even know we were there."

Duval surprised them all by slamming his fist onto the desk. "What in blazes are we all standing around here for? We're wasting time." Grabbing his sword, the captain headed for the door. "I'm going to go round up the troops. You two stay here with his Highness." On that note, he walked out, not giving them a chance to argue. As soon as he was gone, Louis spoke up.

"Much as I appreciate your captain's concern, I hardly require baby-sitters. Especially not when there are far more useful things you could be doing."

"Like what, Sire?" the Gascon asked.

"Well…it certainly wouldn't hurt to take a look around Siroc's laboratory…see if he's invented anything recently that would give us an advantage over the cardinal's men."

"Excellent idea, your Majesty. Ramon and I will get right on that." Bowing, he and the Spaniard left the office, heading in the direction of the lab.

"Are you sure about this, amigo? Siroc will kill us if we mess up any of his experiments…once he's himself again, I mean."

"I'm sure he'll understand." The lab's heavy door was locked, and Siroc had the only key, so the pair wound up going in through the window. Everything was just as they'd left it the day before, so the pair had no trouble recalling which items the inventor had warned them not, under any circumstances, to go anywhere near. Unfortunately, he had a system of organization that was a complete mystery to his comrades, leaving them hard-pressed to locate anything useful.

"Mira…I think I found something…" Ramon gestured to the rather large trunk he'd located after several minutes of otherwise fruitless searching. Abandoning the papers he'd been examining, D'Artagnan went over to where his comrade stood. Looking down at the chest, he noticed a folded piece of paper attached to the lid and gently pulled it off. He opened the note up and read its contents.

"The Impenetrable….Warning: Has not been tested yet."

"What do you suppose that is?"

D'Artagnan shrugged. "I don't know, but it's the best we've got. We should get this trunk to the captain's office."

"But the note says it hasn't been tested. What if it doesn't work?"

"It's a chance we'll have to take. Desperate times and all that."

"Alright…whatever you say. I just hope this doesn't blow up in our faces."

"You and me both." With that, D'Artagnan unlocked the lab door, then he and Ramon lifted the trunk and hauled it back to the King.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jacqueline leaned back against the wall, Siroc's still form lying across her lap. She'd tried everything she could think of to snap him out of it, but nothing worked. So she finally just smothered him, hoping that a temporary death would be enough to shock him back to reality.

There was a loud gasp, and she glanced down to see the inventor returning to life. He sat up, eyes darting about the room, and Jacqueline breathed a sigh of relief.

"Who…wha…oh gods, it really happened, didn't it?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure what 'it' is, but Bernard certainly did something."

"Oh gods," he cried, dropping his head into his hands. She reached forward, intending to lay a hand on his trembling shoulders in an attempt at comfort, but he quickly jerked away.

"W-would you like to talk about it? Maybe I can help."

"No one can help me…" He sat staring into the shadows, hugging his knees to his chest as tremors shook his lithe frame.

She stared at him for a moment, not knowing what else to do, before finally speaking up. "Bernard…he was your master, wasn't he?"

Siroc whirled around, glaring. "Who told you?"

"N-no one had to. I saw the scars, and know enough Latin to figure out what you were muttering when he put you back in here…well, some of it, anyway. What did he do to you?"

He shook his head. "Nothing suitable for your ears."

"Why?" she yelled, leaping to her feet. "Because I'm so much younger than you? Because I'm a woman?"

"Because you're innocent. You've never been a slave, so there's no way you could possibly understand what it was like for me…what I had to do just to survive….I've spent over a millennium trying to purge the memories of what I suffered at his hands, and in less than a day that sadist managed to bring it all back with perfect clarity."

Anger fading, Jacqueline knelt down next to Siroc. "He beat you again, didn't he? That's what the special room was for."

"That was part of it, yes. But not all scars are physical…" He trailed off, staring once more into the darkness. In the dim torchlight, she could see tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. Curious as she was about what happened between Siroc and Bernard, Jacqueline knew better than to push the subject further. Instead, she wrapped her arm around the ancient's shoulders. He didn't resist this time, but leaned into the embrace, burying his face in the fabric of her shirt.

"Well, isn't this sweet." Both musketeers looked up to see the Legend himself standing in the doorway. Jacqueline smiled. This had to be part of the captain's plan…only there was no one else to be seen.

"Where are the others?" she inquired.

"Others?"

"Yes. Captain Duval…Ramon…your son…"

D'Artagnan chuckled mirthlessly. "Is that what you think I'm here for?"

"Why else?" Even as she spoke, Jacqueline had a bad feeling about what his answer would be. Her fears were confirmed a moment later, when the Legend stepped into the torchlight, clad in the black habit of Mazarin's secret order.

"Traitor!" Siroc cried out. He tried to lunge for the elder D'Artagnan, but Jacqueline held fast. Now was not the time. Unfortunately, his outburst managed to draw the Legend's attention. He stalked forward, shoved her aside, grabbed Siroc by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

"Hello…Aramis."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Aramis?" Jacqueline asked, not sure she'd heard him right. "Are you saying that Siroc is…?"

D'Artagnan chuckled, looking towards the blonde. "You mean…you haven't told her? And I thought you were supposed to be her teacher. Well, 'Jacques,'" he continued, turning to face her. "Allow me to introduce you to the 'legendary' Henri d'Aramitz, the musketeer-priest." He flashed a brief, almost maniacal grin before suddenly ramming his closed fist into Siroc's stomach. "Did you really think you were better than the rest of us?" D'Artagnan demanded, letting the inventor slump to the floor. "That being immortal made you special…that it somehow gave you the right to lord it over us mere mortals?"

"N-no," Siroc gasped. "Of course not."

"You know about immortals?"

"After Aramis here got himself skewered during a fight with Richelieu's men, he just _had_ to let us in on his little secret. And once we knew, he started using his oh-so-vast experience as an excuse to treat his comrades--his supposed brothers-in-arms--like we were children."

"Not everyone," the blonde retorted, rising to his feet. "Just you. And don't act like you didn't deserve it." D'Artagnan's response was a swift blow to the jaw that sent him back to the floor, followed by a hard kick to the ribs.

"You're pathetic," the Legend spat. He whistled, and more men entered the cell. Not redcoats, but other members of the Order, all wearing black masks in addition to the black habits. Two of them grabbed Jacqueline, tying her hands behind her, while several more swarmed the elder immortal. In moments, he was once again chained to the wall, only this time he had no means of escape. "Let's go," D'Artagnan ordered.

"I thought Bernard said he was coming for me at dawn."

"There's been a change of plans, thanks to my meddlesome son and his Spanish friend." Without another word, the Legend turned and walked out of the cell, the masked men pulling her along in his wake. As they left, she could see Siroc pulling futilely on the chains, screaming obscenities the likes of which she never thought she'd hear from his lips. The door was closed behind them, muffling his tirade, and the group continued down the corridor with their prisoner. Unknown to them, however, as they walked, Jacqueline was busy working the dagger from the inside of her shirtsleeve. She soon managed to get it into her hand and immediately started sawing at her bonds. In seconds, the ropes fell away and she sprang into action. She kicked the man on her right in the leg, causing him to let go, then plunged the dagger into the one on her left. He fell, and she twisted around and did the same to the first. More started to close in, but D'Artagnan waved them back. "Nice try, girl, but you're not going to get off that easy. Now give me the dagger." He held his hand out expectantly but, instead of handing him the blade, she slashed out with it, opening a gash on his bicep. The Legend cried out, clutching the wounded appendage, and Jacqueline took the opportunity to turn and run, pushing her way past the masked men. She hadn't gotten very far down the corridor when she felt the presence of another immortal. Coming to a halt, she whirled around looking for the source. As her eyes finally fell on Bernard, something heavy slammed into her skull, plunging her into darkness.

When consciousness finally returned, Jacqueline opened her eyes only to find more darkness. She could feel the rough cloth covering them, but when she tried to do something about it, Jacqueline found that she couldn't move her arms. They'd been stretched out to the sides as far as they could go and tightly secured to whatever her back was against. She started pulling against the bonds, but stopped when she heard voices. Familiar voices. It was Bernard and D'Artagnan, and it sounded like they were in the middle of an argument. Jacqueline allowed her body to relax, hoping that neither would notice that she'd woken up.

"Are you sure it has to be her, Bernard? Couldn't we find some other immortal to use--Aramis, perhaps?"

"Tempting as that sounds, he's far too old. It has to be someone young…someone new to immortality."

"But why her? She's one of Charles' friends, and I'd daresay a bit more. If something happened to her, he'd be devastated."

"He'll get over it. You want to be immortal, don't you?"

"Of course I do, but you still haven't answered my question."

"You chose her, remember? A little more than twenty years ago, when you and your comrades went to that abbey."

"What are you talking about?"

"If I recall, it was the same night Charles was born. The woman who ran the abbey--Rebecca, I believe--had discovered an infant on her property the week before. A pre-immortal, in fact. She gave the infant to Aramis to bring back to Paris. And when you got the news of Charles' birth, you cut your own visit short, but not before leaving the infant with the cross I'd given you for that very purpose."

"You mean…that's her? That's Jacqueline?"

"Yes, that's Jacqueline…all grown-up and newly immortal. And we found her just in time, too. Her first death occurred last night, by my reckoning, which means she's still pure…her essence still entirely her own, untouched by the quickenings of other immortals. She couldn't be more perfect. Come dawn, her immortality will become yours." Jacqueline let out a small gasp at this revelation. Luckily, neither man seemed to be paying her much attention.

The Legend sighed. "Fine. As long as you remember your end of the bargain."

"Don't worry. I'll remember."

"My sons will remain safe from the Order, no matter what?" '_Whoa…did he say sons? As in more than one? D'Artagnan has a brother somewhere?_'

"Absolutely. You have my word."

"Thank you." The voices stopped, and it didn't take Jacqueline long to figure out that she'd been left alone. She started working on the ropes again, but her efforts soon proved futile. Whoever had tied them certainly knew what they were doing. With a heavy sigh, Jacqueline leaned back against what she now realized was a set of iron bars, praying that Captain Duval would come through.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

To say Siroc was angry would've been a severe understatement. The combination of Bernard's earlier assault and Charles' betrayal had sent him to a level of pissed-off that he hadn't felt in centuries. Unfortunately, at the moment he was helpless to do anything about it. Jacqueline still had his dagger, far as he knew, and even if he'd had anything stashed in his pants legs, there was no way he could reach them. Impotent in his rage, Siroc slumped down against the wall in resignation, awaiting…whatever it was that would come next.

He didn't have to wait long. Something rattled inside the lock, and the door swung open to reveal Ramon and D'Artagnan, who immediately rushed inside and started unlocking the chains. "Are you alright, amigo?" Ramon asked as the last shackle fell away. Rubbing his wrists to get the feeling back into them, Siroc sighed.

"Physically, yes. But beyond that…" With an angry bellow, he whirled around and launched a kick at the wall. The wall didn't seem to care, and the only thing Siroc got out of the exercise was a couple of broken toes. Gritting his teeth against the pain as he waited for them to heal, he turned back to his comrades. "That son of a bitch…he somehow found out that you two were snooping around down here and moved up his plans."

D'Artagnan swore. "It must've been those guards we ran into on the way out. I knew we were too easy on them…."

"Too late to worry about that now, compadré. Siroc, do you know where they took her?"

He shook his head. "I wish I did, but seeing as I was chained to the wall….If I had to guess, I'd say they took her to Mazarin's oh-so-mysterious sanctum, wherever that is."

D'Artagnan swore again. "So we're right back to square one."

"So it would seem." Taking a deep breath, Siroc turned towards the Spaniard. "Ramon, would you mind giving us a moment?"

"What for?"

"It's rather personal."

"Fine," Ramon sighed, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I'll just go see if Capitan Duval needs any help out in the corridor."

Siroc nodded. "You do that." With that, Ramon exited the cell, and the inventor turned back to D'Artagnan.

"What's going on, Siroc? Is this about Jacqueline?"

"Sort of….Earlier, when I said Bernard moved up his plans…well…truth is, I never actually heard _him_ say that. He sent someone else to get Jacqueline."

"I don't get it…why is that such a big deal that you have to send Ramon out of the room?"

"It's not so much the fact that Bernard sent someone else as _who_ he sent." He sighed, placing a hand on the Gascon's shoulder. "I don't know how to tell you this, D'Artagnan….The man Bernard sent in his stead…he…it was…."

"Who?" D'Artagnan demanded, shoving Siroc's hand away. "Tell me, damn it!"

"The man who came for Jacqueline was none other than your own father. I'm so—" Before he could finish, D'Artagnan's fist found its way to his jaw, sending him back into the wall.

"Liar!" Grabbing Siroc's collar, the enraged Gascon slammed him into the wall a second time, attempting to pin him against it. His own temper already at the boiling point, the inventor countered immediately, grabbing D'Artagnan's arm and twisting it behind him. Still holding the arm, he none-too-gently shoved the Legend's son against the wall face-first and held him there with a forearm to the back of his neck.

"Are you quite finished?" With nowhere else to go, D'Artagnan quickly nodded. "Good. Now…I wish I was lying about this, I really do, but what I said was the absolute truth. Your father, the Legend himself, came into this cell dressed in a black robe…just like every other member of the Order, excluding Mazarin's foot soldiers. He was accompanied by several other men, all wearing the same habits, only they were masked. The lot of them marched in here, chained me to the wall, then hauled Jacqueline off to gods know where. And, I hate to say this, but your father seemed awfully damned smug about the whole thing. I'd say that he's been involved with these people for quite awhile, and we've all been so blinded by his legendary status that we missed the signs. Understand?" D'Artagnan nodded, and Siroc immediately released his grip.

"Why are you telling me all this now?"

"Because I don't want there to be any surprises when we go to save Jacqueline. Forewarned is forearmed. Now that you know, you won't freeze up if we encounter him down in the sanctum…at least, I hope you won't."

He sighed. "No, I won't. You don't have to worry about that."

"Good. And if it comes down to a choice between his life and Jacqueline's?"

D'Artagnan looked right into his eyes, and Siroc could see the dark cloud settling over his usually carefree friend. "Do you even have to ask?"

Siroc nodded, but before he could say more, Ramon burst into the room. "Amigos, come quick! The capitan found something." Not needing to be told a second time, both musketeers ran from the cell. Near the end of the corridor, they found a group of their comrades, Captain Duval included, gathered around what looked to be a couple of dead bodies—ones clad in black robes. Pushing his way through the throng, Siroc knelt down next to the first, placing his hand on the man's neck to confirm that he was indeed dead. He pulled off the mask, revealing Louis' own steward.

"Alphonse?" a voice squeaked. Siroc looked up to see the King himself push through the crowd, sans wig and dressed in a standard-issue musketeer's uniform, which was why no one had recognized him sooner. His presence elicited more than a few startled gasps from the gathered musketeers.

"I'm afraid so, Sire," the inventor replied, not the least bit fazed by Louis' sudden appearance. "The Order appears to have even greater reach than we previously thought." He shared a knowing look with D'Artagnan, whose jaw was clenched tightly in suppressed rage. Shaking his head, the immortal got up and started towards the second, which was when Duval finally seemed to take notice of his presence.

"Are you alright, son?"

"Fine."

"Good. I was a little worried because those two," he said, indicating Ramon and D'Artagnan, "told me that you'd been beaten nearly to death. Glad to see that wasn't the case."

"It was, actually…just not in the way they obviously assumed. Bernard specializes in mental torture, and he managed to find and exploit a particularly sensitive point. That's over now, so perhaps we should concentrate on the matter at hand." The last part came out a bit more forcefully than Siroc had intended, but, fortunately, Duval seemed to be in an especially forgiving mood. The captain gestured towards the second body, and the inventor immediately moved in to investigate. He felt for a pulse and… "Captain, this one's still alive!" Yanking the man to his feet, Siroc quickly unmasked him.

"Dear Lord," Duval gasped. "It's the Duc d'Angoulême."

"Not anymore." Louis stepped forward, giving the duc the most furious glare any of them had ever seen from the young monarch. "Monsieur Valois, you are guilty of high treason against the Crown of France. Do you deny it?" The robed man shook his head. "Good. That makes this so much easier. For your crimes against God and France, I hereby strip you of your title and lands, and sentence you to death. Sentence to be carried out immediately. Captain..." Duval moved in, pistol trained on the traitor's head.

"Wait," Siroc called, moving himself in front of the captain. "Scum though he is, our dear ex-duc might have information about our missing comrade. Sire," he continued, turning to Louis. "Just give me a little time, and I'll find out all this man knows. After that, you can do with him whatever you wish." The King thought this over for a moment, then nodded. A rather malicious grin playing across his features, Siroc grabbed the condemned man by the arm and roughly dragged him through the crowd of soldiers. As they emerged on the other side, they were met by an equally determined D'Artagnan.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked as Siroc shoved the prisoner into the cell he'd just vacated.

"If you'd like…but I must warn you, it's not going to be pretty."

D'Artagnan locked eyes with the inventor, his own expression growing even darker. "Good."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A short time later, Siroc emerged from the cell, his naked torso and face streaked with blood, making him resemble one of those painted warriors from ages past. D'Artagnan was right behind him, also bloodied, wiping his blade with a piece of black cloth that had once been part of someone's robe.

"Well?" Siroc looked over at Duval, an almost manic grin crossing his features.

"I know where Mazarin's sanctum is."

"G-good," Louis stuttered, obviously disturbed at the sight of so much blood. "A-and the prisoner?"

"He won't be a problem any longer." D'Artagnan nodded in confirmation, and the King, looking a bit pale, returned the gesture.

"I-I see…"

"If it pleases your Majesty," Siroc continued, giving a slight bow, "I would humbly suggest that Ramon and I scout ahead…make sure the path into the sanctum is clear. The rest of you could follow a short distance behind. D'Artagnan also bore witness to the duc's confession, so he should be able to lead you there without any problem." Louis thought about the proposal for a few moments, then nodded his approval. Siroc bowed a second time before turning and heading for the prison entrance, gesturing for Ramon to follow.

"Wait," Ramon called out, catching up with the blonde just inside the main gate. "Before we go anywhere, I found these stashed in one of the guard stations…did a bit of snooping while you and D'Artagnan were…busy." He thrust a bundle into Siroc's hands, which, as the inventor quickly discovered, contained his jacket, shirt, boots, baldric, and rapier.

"Thanks," he said, setting most of the stuff aside as he sat down to pull on his boots. "Were Jacqueline's things there too?"

"Si. I gave them to the capitan for safekeeping."

"Good idea." Boots on, he picked up the shirt and, on noticing the condition it was in, immediately discarded it. Climbing to his feet, he slipped the jacket on over his bare torso, followed by the baldric. "There. Much better."

"Oh…I did find one more thing, amigo." Reaching inside his own jacket, Ramon produced a familiar-looking blade, handing it right over to the awe-struck immortal.

"T-this was there too?" The Spaniard nodded. "I don't know what to say…I mean…this was my first sword, you know. Been with me almost as far back as I can remember. I thought for sure Bernard would've taken it as a trophy….Thank you, Ramon."

"De nada. So…what now?"

"Now," Siroc said, returning the gladius to its customary hiding spot, "We head to the sanctum."

"Yeah…about that…wouldn't it be much easier to just use the entrance that, I presume, is somewhere inside the prison?"

"Not really. That one, as well as the one inside Mazarin's chambers, will be the most closely guarded. We use either of those, and we lose the element of surprise. Our best chance of rescuing Jacqueline would be to use one of the more public entrances…slip in behind the rank-and-file as they gather for their damned ceremony."

"I see your point. So what are we waiting for?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

"Well, let's go then. Don't worry, we brought horses."

"Oh, good…I really wasn't looking forward to walking."

"Me neither." With that, the pair walked outside the gates to where the musketeer horses had all been tethered, including Siroc and Jacqueline's own favored mounts, which must've been left there by their captors. For Siroc, the sight of the white horse was a grim reminder of what he was heading into, making him even more determined as he and Ramon climbed into their saddles and headed out. The inventor quickly took the lead, with his Spanish comrade only a few paces behind. "What's this all about, anyway," Ramon asked as the prison disappeared from view. "What does Bernard want with our amiga?"

Siroc shook his head. "According to the late duc, the Order's planning some ritual that's supposed to grant immortality. And Jacqueline's supposed to be the source they're going to use to get it."

"I don't understand…Bernard's already immortal, isn't he?" The inventor nodded. "So why bother with this ritual?"

"Think about it, Ramon. I mean, he's obviously not going to use it on himself, but if it works…if whoever he chooses does, in fact, gain immortality from this little venture of theirs…it could change everything."

"How so?"

"See, for as long as immortals have been around, the granting of said immortality has been…well…a random occurrence. None of us really have a choice in the matter…never have. But if this…experiment…of Bernard's works, he could easily set himself up as a god among our kind…able to pick and choose who gets to live forever and who doesn't…surround himself with an army of immortals loyal to him. He could easily eliminate any competition from us older immortals, as I'd imagine any who would dare try to stop him would be cut to pieces in minutes, and eventually set himself up as the unquestioned ruler of the world."

Ramon arched an eyebrow. "I don't know, amigo…sounds pretty farfetched to me."

"Perhaps, but I'd lay odds that it's exactly what Bernard's shooting for. Which is exactly why we have to put a stop to this ritual. No man should ever possess that kind of power."

"I agree," the Spaniard nodded, muttering a few scathing curses in his native tongue. When his tirade ended, the pair rode in silence until Siroc suddenly pulled his own mount to a halt.

"Look," he said, gesturing to a spot just past the trees. Ramon followed his comrade's gaze and sure enough, there were black-robed figures heading into what looked to be some sort of cavern.

"It seems the duc was telling the truth."

"Men facing death usually do."

"Of course…" Ramon said, growing a bit pale. He wasn't used to seeing this side of his amigo, and probably never would be. Shaking his head, the Spaniard quickly changed the subject. "So what now? Time to swoop in, slay the bad guys and rescue the fair maiden?"

"First off," Siroc chuckled, "I'm pretty sure Jacqueline would have your hide if she heard you calling her a 'fair maiden.' And secondly, it's not a good idea to go rushing in just yet."

"But the ritual…"

"It won't be taking place until dawn, so she should be relatively 'safe' until then. And we really shouldn't be going in without back-up anyway."

"True."

"Besides, even if we didn't wait for the others, I wouldn't be able to go in with you."

"Why not?"

"This," Siroc said, tapping the side of his head. "Immortals can sense each other, remember? If I get anywhere near the sanctum, he'll know I'm coming and we'll lose the element of surprise."

"So you're not going to be part of this mission at all?"

"Oh, I'll be there…I just have to be a little more creative about getting inside." Sliding from the saddle, he walked over to the nearest tree and placed his hand on the trunk, leaning on it as he stared at the gathering cultists. The other hand found its way inside his jacket, unconsciously fingering the hilt of his ancient blade. A moment later, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his Spanish comrade standing there.

"Something wrong, amigo?"

"Just thinking…." He sighed, then turned around and grasped his comrade's arm. "Ramon…mi amigo…mi hermano…when was the last time I told you just how much your friendship meant to me?"

"Uh…." Ramon stuttered, gently extricating himself from Siroc's grasp and backing off. "I don't know why you're getting sentimental all of a sudden but, frankly, you're starting to scare me."

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'm scared too, you know. There's a good chance that this could be my last mission."

"What are you talking about, Siroc? You're not planning on quitting, are you?"

Siroc shook his head. "Believe me, I have no intention of doing that anytime soon."

"Then what…oh no…you can't be serious. You're actually going to fight that demente?"

"It's not like I have much of a choice….Time was, the second that madman waltzed into town I would've packed up and moved to another country…worked pretty well for the past several centuries."

"Why haven't you?"

"I know this is going to sound kind of sappy, but…well…the truth is, you, D'Artagnan, and Jacqueline are the closest thing I've had to a real family in a very long time. And if something happened to any one of you guys because I was too much of a goddamned coward to stand up to Bernard, I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"So this is about you trying to be some kind of hero…protecting us poor, defenseless mortals from the big, bad immortal?"

The blonde shrugged. "Something like that."

Ramon shook his head. "I don't need your protection, Siroc. Bernard is old, evil, and dangerous…I get that. But if he goes after any of us, he might as well be attacking the rest as well. All for one and one for all, remember?"

"Really?" Siroc chuckled. "I thought our motto was 'brothers in arms.'"

"That's beside the point," Ramon snapped, not looking amused. "If you think that I'm just going to stand idly by while you give that lunatic a chance to chop off your head, then you're even crazier than he is…." He trailed off, muttering a few unrepeatable words in Spanish while pacing between the trees. Siroc let him vent for a bit before grabbing his collar and pulling him to one side.

"Alright, alright…Look, Ramon…if—when—I fight Bernard, you can't get involved. Trust me, this is something that I have to do on my own. But there is one way you can help me."

"What?"

"If the worst should happen, and I don't walk away from this one, I need you to make sure Jacqueline is safe. Remember that abbey I showed you the last time we both had leave?"

"Si…why?"

"Well, that abbey happens to be run by one of my oldest and dearest friends."

"Another immortal, you mean."

"Yes. Her name is Rebecca Horne…this century, anyway. If Bernard should win, I need you to make sure Jacqueline gets to that abbey. Rebecca will take care of her."

"Are you sure about that, amigo?"

Siroc grinned. "Positive. She has a…habit…of taking in strays, so to speak. Jacqueline will be more than welcome there."

"But you're not going to lose, Siroc. You can't."

He sighed. "Yes, I can. I'm good, but Bernard has at least a thousand years on me. He's perfected techniques that I couldn't pull off in even my wildest fantasies…hell, he's probably even invented a few himself. I might win, but, then again, I might not. Just promise me that you'll do this. I won't be able to focus if I have to worry about her as well. Please, Ramon…."

"Fine…I promise that _if_ anything should happen to you, I will get mi amiga to that abbey, even if I have to drag her kicking and screaming."

"Thank you." They shook hands, then Ramon pulled his comrade into a hug.

"Be careful, Siroc," the Spaniard said, before letting him go. "That's one promise I hope I'll never have to fulfill."

"You and me both, Ramon…." The immortal trailed off as something brushed against his senses.

"What is it, amigo?"

"I think I might have just found my way in."

Ramon nodded. "Go. I'll see you inside."

Returning the nod, Siroc slipped off towards whatever it was he had sensed. Just outside the sanctum's entrance, he caught up with a rather scrawny-looking figure in robes at least two sizes too large. Grabbing him before he could enter, Siroc dragged him into the trees and pulled off the mask to reveal an unfamiliar face. "What's your name, boy?"

"M-Maurice," he stammered, white as a sheet.

"I see you're pretty new at this…when did you die?"

"L-last night, when Captain Bernard and I went after the Roget boy."

"So you were the other body I saw. I was wondering what happened to it."

"A-are you going to kill me?"

"I don't kill children…though in your case, I may have to make an exception." He drew his gladius, and Maurice dropped to his knees, grabbing hold of Siroc's legs.

"P-please don't kill me…I'll do anything you say…anything at all…just spare me, please…"

"Alright, you pathetic little….get up." When Maurice didn't move, Siroc grabbed his collar and yanked him back to his feet. "You said you'd do anything, right?" He nodded. "Good. Take off your robe…and your shirt." The younger immortal started to open his mouth, as if to ask why, but quickly shut it again at the elder's menacing glare. Quickly, he removed the garments Siroc had indicated and handed them over. Sheathing his blade, the inventor pulled the robe on over his uniform, then started tearing the shirt into strips. Without warning, Maurice launched himself into Siroc's midsection, taking the ancient immortal to the ground. However, his victory was short-lived. Once the musketeer recovered from the surprise, he slammed his palm into the bridge of the youth's nose. Howling in pain, he rolled away, clutching the injured appendage. Siroc was on him immediately, rolling him over and straddling his back. Grabbing the cloth strips he'd made, he knotted one in the center, then shoved said knot into Maurice's mouth and tied the ends behind his head. That done, he swiftly pulled the boy's hands behind his back and bound them with a much longer strip, leaving enough extra to serve as a sort of leash.

"Nice try, boy," he remarked to his captive audience, "but, for future reference, it's generally a very bad idea to try and take on someone more than ten times your age. Comprenez-vous (do you understand)?" Maurice quickly nodded. "Good. Now…time for you to do something useful." With that, Siroc stood up, dragging his captive with him. He slipped Maurice's mask onto his face, pulled the hood up to cover his hair, then dragged the younger immortal inside the sanctum's entrance just as the sky was starting to lighten. At the end of the tunnel, he shoved the boy into a niche where he would be out of sight, tying the excess cloth to a nearby stalagmite. "If you even think about wriggling free and warning Bernard, your head is forfeit. And that's not a threat…it's a promise." Immediately, the younger immortal grew even paler and shrank back against the cavern wall. Shaking his head, Siroc turned and entered the sanctum itself. Bernard glared at him, obviously believing him to be Maurice, and he feigned a look of contrition as his eyes surreptitiously studied the room. The Order's members had formed a circle around what appeared to be some sort of altar at the center, with Bernard and Mazarin standing on either side. A blindfolded Jacqueline was bound to the gate that, presumably, led out to the prison, her arms stretched out to her sides in a manner eerily reminiscent of the many crucifixions he'd witnessed as a mortal. Suppressing a shudder at the unpleasant memories, he scanned the dark edges of the room. At first, he couldn't see anything, but a glint of steel in the dim candlelight was enough to tell him that the cavalry was ready and waiting.

Before he had a chance to signal back, someone pushed their way past him and headed down to the altar. It was Charles, who had shed his robe and was now naked from the waist up, save for a bloodied cloth around his bicep. On reaching it, he and Bernard briefly clasped forearms in what Siroc recognized as the traditional warrior's handshake, and then the Legend took his place behind the stone table. Bernard gave a slight nod to Mazarin, who immediately stepped forward to address the gathered throng.

"Brothers, you all know why we are here, so I will spare you the long and tedious speech. Suffice it to say, today is the day we have dreamed of ever since the Order was re-formed during the reign of Cardinal Richelieu. If Brother Bernard's grand experiment—which Brother Charles has so nobly volunteered himself for—is a success, then soon we shall all be granted immortality...and with it, the power to finally take our rightful places as rulers of the world." The masked men all nodded in agreement. Siroc did as well, to keep up appearances. '_Idiots,_' he thought, covertly reaching inside the borrowed robe for his gladius. But, before he could draw it, Bernard stepped forward, taking over for the cardinal.

"Bring forth the source!" At his command, Jacqueline was taken down from the gate and, still blindfolded, dragged over to the altar. She fought the men every step of the way, but her struggles proved useless. They positioned her in front of the altar, right across from Charles, and then backed away. Bernard immediately pulled his blade—the kopis, not the rapier—and placed the sharp edge on the back of her neck. Though he didn't say a word to her, the threat was obvious. _Move,_ _and you're dead_. It took every ounce of self-control Siroc possessed not to pull his own blade and rush Bernard right then and there. The only thing that stayed his hand was the fear that doing so would turn the threat into reality. "Open the skylight!" the elder immortal commanded. His lackeys quickly complied and the obelisk, which was displayed prominently on a pedestal just underneath, was soon bathed in light. It began to glow blue with energy and, in moments, beams of that energy shot out in all directions, reflecting off of strategically placed mirrors and focusing on a point just above the altar. A tall cultist—Mazarin's replacement in the ritual, Siroc guessed, as the cardinal no longer seemed to be in the room—stepped forward with a long dagger. He stuck the blade right into the energy's focal point and, in seconds, the blue beams seemingly disappeared right into the steel. The tall man gestured to Charles, who immediately placed his right hand, palm down, in the center of the altar. Then, once the so-called Legend was in place, he grabbed Jacqueline's right hand, forcibly placed it on top of Charles', then rammed the dagger straight down through them both. Jacqueline cried out in pain, and Siroc could see his former comrade biting his lip to keep from doing so himself. With the pair pinned in place, the tall man began to chant in Latin. As he did, both dagger and obelisk began to radiate that strange blue energy. The energy around the dagger started to expand, threatening to engulf both Jacqueline and Charles. Then, all of a sudden, the chanting stopped and the energy disappeared. A moment later, the tall cultist fell dead, courtesy of a crossbow bolt in his back.

"I got one!" Instantaneously, all eyes turned to see what appeared to be an overeager young musketeer in the middle of celebrating his achievement. Siroc immediately recognized Louis, but, fortunately, no one else seemed to have caught on. Not that anyone really had time to look, since it was at that moment that all hell broke loose. Dozens of musketeers, lead by the young monarch, rushed from their hiding spots into the heart of the sanctum. About half the cultists ran for the exits, while the rest drew their weapons in preparation for the inevitable fight.

Jacqueline suddenly cried out, and Siroc turned in time to see Bernard yank the dagger from her hand and drag her off towards one of the exits. '_Oh no…you're not getting off that easy._' Ducking back into the entrance tunnel, the blonde cut Maurice free from the stalagmite, though he left his hands bound. "Alright, boy…show time." Taking the younger immortal's head under his left arm, Siroc drew his gladius and headed in the direction his nemesis had gone. His pursuit took him into a narrow tunnel that, based upon its location, he assumed led to Mazarin's chambers. Jacqueline had been doing everything she could to slow Bernard down, so Siroc was able to catch up to them about halfway up the passageway. Stepping into the dim torchlight, he tore off the mask and pushed the hood back to reveal his golden, bloodstained locks. For a moment, Bernard looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

"I-I thought I'd broken you, boy," he growled, trying unsuccessfully to hide his shock.

"You certainly tried, Beltranus. Nearly succeeded too. But it would take a far better man than you to finish the job."

"No matter. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be taking my leave."

Siroc laughed harshly. "I don't think so, Beltranus. Face it, it's over. Your precious Order is being dismantled as we speak, and I'm sure the captain has more men waiting upstairs in the palace to take you into custody. You might as well just give up now…make things easy on yourself."

He chuckled. "Oh no…you forget, I still have one bargaining chip." He pulled a still-blindfolded Jacqueline into the light, putting his blade against her throat. "Back off, boy, or I'll kill her."

The blonde shook his head. "No, you won't. The quickening would bring this whole cavern down on our heads, not to mention the buildings above it. I don't know about you, but I really don't fancy spending the next few decades digging myself out. Besides," he grinned, dragging Maurice into the light and laying his gladius on the back of the boy's neck. "You take my student, and I'll have to take yours."

"M-Maurice?" the ancient stammered, lowering his blade.

"Well, well, well….It would appear that the great Beltranus does have a heart. Or is that just lust I'm sensing? He certainly seems like your type…even if he is a little old."

"What do you want?"

"Let Jacqueline go and I'll tell you."

"Only if you let Maurice go as well."

"Done." Simultaneously, the two released their respective hostages. Pulling the blindfold off, Jacqueline rushed to Siroc's side as Maurice stumbled over to Beltranus, who quickly cut him free. "Good. Now that that's settled….I want it over between us, Beltranus. I weary of this cat-and-mouse game we've been playing for the past sixteen centuries."

"Are you challenging me, boy?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. And, because I'm in such a generous mood at the moment, I'll even let you set the terms."

"Oh really?"

"Absolutely. You just name the time and place, and I'll be there."

Beltranus nodded, taking a moment to consider the younger immortal's words. "How about the old tournament grounds in Rouen, in one month."

"Why a month?"

The elder immortal grinned. "You said I could set the terms, remember? I don't see any reason why Maurice can't get a quickening out of this as well. But it wouldn't be very sporting of me to force Mademoiselle Roget to go into such a fight unprepared, so I'm giving you a month to get her ready. What do you say, boy?"

"Fine by me," Jacqueline interjected, beating Siroc to the punch. The blonde looked at her quizzically.

"Are you sure about this, Jacqueline?"

"Positive. That little branleur was the one who stabbed me the other night. And you know what they say about payback…." She glared at Maurice, who paled and shrank back behind his teacher's robes.

"Well, I guess it's settled then." With a shrug, Siroc returned his gladius to its hiding spot. "The old tournament grounds in Rouen, in one month. And if you don't show up, Beltranus, I will hunt you down."

"Don't worry, boy. I'll be there. Now, if you'll excuse me…." Grabbing Maurice by the arm, Beltranus practically dragged his student the rest of the way up the passage. Once they'd disappeared into the darkness, Siroc turned to his own student.

"Are you alright?"

She sighed. "I'll live."

"Big surprise there," the inventor chuckled. A moment later, Jacqueline cracked a small smile of her own as she caught onto the joke. Then her expression turned serious once more.

"Not that I'm questioning your judgment or anything, Siroc, but what makes you so sure Bernard will keep his word?"

"Bernard is, first and foremost, a warrior. His sense of honor may be insanely warped, but it's there. Trust me, Jacqueline. He's not going to back down from this…and he'll make sure that his sniveling little coward of a student won't either."

"I see….Do you really think I can be ready in a month?"

Siroc gave a rather undignified snort. "A month? Hell, you're ready now. Don't let Bernard's little act fool you. Maurice has only been immortal for as long as you have, give or take a few hours. He's the one that needs the training….though that doesn't mean you're off the hook. Bernard's probably going to spend the next month teaching the brat every dirty trick in the book, so you need to learn how to deal with that."

"Yes, sir," she teased, tossing off a mock salute.

"Alright…laugh it up while you can. I doubt you'll find it so funny when you're running laps around the courtyard."

"You wouldn't…."

"Try me." He tried to feign a menacing glare, but couldn't keep a straight face for that long. "So….How's the hand?"

"It's healing…though not as fast as I'd have hoped." She held it up to the light so he could see. The hole from the dagger was still there, though it had gotten a bit smaller. Gently, Siroc took one of the extra cloth strips from Maurice's shirt and wrapped it around her palm to staunch the slight amount of blood that was still trickling from the wound.

"There…that should help it a bit. Hopefully, the effects of that damned obelisk will wear off soon."

"Yeah…stupid Bernard and his stupid ritual…."

"Well, it's over now. Bernard's living on borrowed time, and his pet cultists are being rounded up as we speak. I think Mazarin managed to slip away, but no matter. After today, he'll no longer have any power over Louis. All in all, I'd have to say mission accomplished."

"You're right." A genuine smile lit up Jacqueline's features, and she stood up a bit straighter—as if some great weight had finally been lifted. "It's not _exactly_ what I hoped for, but still…."

"You aren't going to leave now, are you?"

"Of course not. The King still needs protection, doesn't he?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a very winded Ramon suddenly appeared in the passageway.

"Amigos…come quick….The King…he's been shot."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Immediately, the immortal duo ran back down to the sanctum, where they found both the young monarch and the elder D'Artagnan sprawled out on the floor, while the younger D'Artagnan was busy trying to wrench the smoking pistol from a masked cultist. The front of the King's borrowed musketeer jacket was coated in blood, as was the Legend's stomach. Jacqueline rushed over to Louis' side, laying a hand on the side of his neck. Though unconscious, he had a strong, steady pulse. Relieved, yet confused, the female musketeer looked at the bloodstained garment the King was wearing. There was a hole in the center of the stain, but no blood was actually coming out of it. She raised her head to alert Siroc, only to find the elder immortal kneeling next to his former comrade.

"H-Henri?" The Legend gasped, looking up at Siroc.

"I'm here, Charles."

"I-it hurts."

"I know. Here…." Jacqueline watched as the inventor, in what was obviously a well-practiced maneuver, quickly jabbed his fingers into a point just above the wound. At first, she wasn't sure just what her friend was trying to accomplish. Then, to her amazement, the elder D'Artagnan seemed to relax.

"T-the pain," he said, equally amazed. "It's gone…."

"I've blocked off the nerves. It's the best I can do."

Charles nodded grimly. "God…I-I'm so sorry, Henri. I never should've…"

"Why did you, then?"

"Blackmail. Bernard…he knew…"

"Knew what, Charles?"

"About Anne…about…" He turned his head towards the young King, who was starting to come around. Jacqueline looked back and forth between them, recalling the Legend's earlier conversation with Bernard as the truth fell into place.

"By the gods…" Siroc breathed. "You mean…Louis…he's…"

Charles nodded, turning back to his old friend. "I loved his mother…always have. Bernard…he found out about it, somehow. Told me that if I didn't join with him, he'd make the truth known to all."

"Gods…. Why didn't you come to us, Charles? We could've helped you."

"I-I'm sorry, Henri. I was…afraid. Bernard…he told me about your past…your history with him. I-I didn't want to involve you because I feared what might happen if he found out. God, I-I've been such a fool. Can you ever forgive me?" As he spoke, Charles turned once more towards Louis. After a moment, the young monarch, still in shock over the revelation, managed a small nod. Satisfied, the Legend looked back up at Siroc expectantly.

"I forgive you, Charles." At that, a warm smile crossed the elder D'Artagnan's features, which Siroc immediately returned.

"Thank you, Henri."

"Rest now, Brother. One for all…"

"…and all for…" He trailed off, and his body suddenly went limp. Siroc briefly touched his neck, then ran a hand over his eyes, closing them forever. Jacqueline could see tears staining the blonde's cheeks, and felt more welling up in the corners of her own eyes. Her childhood hero, the legendary D'Artagnan, was dead. True, he had become an enemy towards the end, but that didn't make the loss hurt any less. She turned to Louis, who also appeared to be quite upset, and understandably so. All around them, young musketeers stood gaping in shock, though it was hard to say whether it was from the death of their great hero or the truths that his dying words had revealed.

"Back to the garrison," Duval said, taking control of the situation. "All of you…that's an order. And if any of you breathes a word of this, you'll all have dungeon duty for a month!" At that, the majority of the musketeers turned and left the sanctum. Only 'Jacques,' Siroc, Ramon and D'Artagnan stayed behind.

Shoving the cultist he'd been grappling with into the Spaniard's arms, the younger D'Artagnan rushed to his father's side. Siroc quickly stood up, grabbing hold of his distraught comrade before he could fling himself onto the corpse.

"Father!"

"He's gone, D'Artagnan."

The Gascon shook his head. "No…he can't…. Do something, damn it!"

"I'm an immortal," Siroc whispered, "not a god. His wound was just too severe. I'm sorry."

"No…" All at once, the strength seemed to drain out of the younger D'Artagnan. He dropped to his knees, hands still clinging to Siroc's borrowed robes. Without thinking, the immortal knelt down as well, running a gentle hand over the boy's dark hair.

"Shh…it's alright, Little D. I'm—" Suddenly, Siroc found himself staring up at the ceiling, his jaw temporarily dislocated from the unexpected blow. Snapping it back into place, he watched the Legend's son draw himself back to his feet. Looking into the young man's eyes, it was plain to see that grief had been replaced by rage. Before anyone could stop him, D'Artagnan drew his dagger and, grabbing the now-unarmed cultist back from Ramon, shoved the blade into the man's heart all the way to the hilt. The cultist fell and, without bothering to retrieve his weapon, the Gascon turned and walked out of the sanctum.

"W-what in blazes just happened?" Duval stammered, after several moments of shocked silence. The inventor sat up, rubbing his still-aching jaw.

"I have no idea, Sir. Perhaps my timing could stand a bit of improvement."

"I'll go talk to him," Jacqueline offered, getting up and heading in the direction D'Artagnan had taken. Once she was gone, Siroc, finally remembering the reason he'd rushed back down into the sanctum in the first place, climbed back to his feet and approached the young King.

"Are you alright, Sire?"

Louis nodded. "H-he saved my life. One minute, D'Artagnan—the older one—was fighting alongside the Order, and the next…. He threw himself in front of a bullet that was meant for me."

"Then he died a hero."

"And that's precisely how he shall be remembered. I see no need for his great legacy to be tainted by his involvement with these…these heretics." All three musketeers nodded in understanding.

"As you wish, Sire. Now," Siroc continued, "I'm curious…what exactly was it that led Ramon to believe you'd been shot?"

"Well, I was…kind of…." The young monarch opened his bloodstained jacket and, leaning in, the inventor could see a tiny lump of lead imbedded in the front of his vest. Tentatively, he reached forward and gently rapped his knuckles against the material. The action produced a dull, metallic sound, and the immortal couldn't help but grin.

"I see that you lot have been snooping around in my lab," he said, glancing over at Ramon. The Spaniard shrugged.

"I was just following orders, compañero. In all the excitement, I'd completely forgotten that His Highness was wearing one."

Siroc nodded. "Well, I'm just glad that my Impenetrable worked." He turned back to the King. "In the future, Sire, perhaps it would be better for everyone if you refrain from offering yourself up as a test subject for my experiments. You nearly gave us all heart failure."

"I'll take that under advisement. Help me up?" Louis held out his hand, and Siroc immediately took hold of it and pulled. The young King made it about halfway up before crying out in pain.

"Something wrong, Sire?" Siroc asked, gently lowering him back to the ground.

"M-my side hurts."

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Please do." Nodding, the inventor gently removed Louis' vest and jacket, then pulled up his shirt.

"Well, it would seem that my otherwise brilliant creation does have one drawback. It stopped the bullet, but I'm afraid that you're going to have quite a bruise. But not to worry…you should be just fine in about a week."

"Well," Louis shrugged, "it's certainly preferable to being dead, which is what would've happened had I not been wearing this marvelous invention of yours. Private Siroc, I want you to make enough of these Impenetrables for every man in the garrison, as well as one for my own personal use that can be worn with my normal clothes."

"That's a pretty tall order, Sire…but, with a little help from my comrades, I'm sure I could manage. I'll start with yours, and, with any luck, it'll be ready in time for your coronation…providing, of course, that Your Majesty is willing to part with one of your own vests for the purposes of creating it."

"Of course. I'll have one sent to your laboratory straight away. But first things first," the King said, climbing back to his feet with some assistance from the inventor. "Siroc, Ramon…I need you to take D'Artagnan's remains up to my private chapel in the palace. Go up through one of these secret passages, as I'd imagine carrying him through the streets would only cause rioting among the citizens. I'll break the sad news to them myself later this afternoon. That way, all those who witnessed his death will, hopefully, have had a chance to come to terms with it and be better able to maintain calm in the streets."

Siroc nodded. "Good thinking Sire." With that, he discarded the borrowed robe, and then he and Ramon carefully picked up the body of his 'legendary' former comrade and carried it up through the same passage that Bernard had utilized in his escape. Once they were gone, Louis turned to Captain Duval.

"Captain, you heard Cardinal Mazarin down here earlier, didn't you?"

"I did, Sire."

"Good, then it wasn't just me."

"Your orders, Sire?"

Louis thought for a moment. "Well, unfortunately, we don't have any real proof, other than our word, that he was participating in—possibly even leading—the ritual that these heretics were attempting this morning. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to just let this go and pretend it never happened. I want Cardinal Mazarin placed under house arrest, starting immediately. His personal guard is to be disbanded, and replaced with your own men—though their job won't be to protect him so much as to monitor his activities. He is to go nowhere—within the palace or outside of it—without a musketeer escort. And the moment he steps out of line, he will be removed from his position of power and put on the first available ship back to Sicily. Furthermore, I want any and all occult books and artifacts in the cardinal's possession confiscated, and every possible entrance to this unholy place sealed up. Even if we are unable to arrest every member of this cult, I want to make sure that they can't regroup and rise up again."

"Couldn't agree with you more, Your Majesty. I'll get right on it."

"Good. Shall we return to the palace, then?"

"Absolutely." Duval snatched up the obelisk from its place on the altar, and then the aging captain and his young monarch left the sanctum for what they hoped would be the last time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shortly after leaving the sanctum, Jacqueline finally found the Legend's son in his quarters. The door was wide open, and she could see that he was dressed in civilian clothing and angrily shoving personal items into a large duffel. Not wanting to be rude, she knocked on the doorframe. "D'Artagnan?" she asked quietly. "Are you alright?"

"Does it look like I'm alright," he growled, not even bothering to look up. "I just found out that my whole goddamned life has been one lie after another. The reason my 'legendary' father was never around when we needed him was because he was far too busy committing treason with the Queen. Because of that, our future king is actually his bastard son…my half-brother. And, on top of all that, I find out that one of my so-called best friends is actually the godfather that abandoned me when I was five. Aramis was the closest thing I had to a real father when I was young, and the son of a bitch just…he left us…left me. Walked away and never returned. Then he has the nerve to come back and pass himself off as a new recruit just when I'm ready to join up. And for what? To mock me?"

"Come on…this is Siroc you're talking about, remember? I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for why he left."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I don't care. Explanation or no, it doesn't erase what he did." He laughed harshly. "You know…my mother never wanted me to join the musketeers in the first place. Said that being a musketeer would bring nothing but pain. Looks like she was right."

"And you think that running away is going to solve everything?"

He stared at her. "I'm not running away, Jacqueline. Just walking…going home."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

He sighed. "With Father gone, I am now Comte D'Artagnan. And, unlike him, I'm actually going to fulfill my obligations."

Jacqueline crossed her arms, glaring. "And what of your obligation to the King?"

He glared back. "What obligation? Louis has hundreds of musketeers at his disposal. My absence will hardly be noticed."

"Your friends would notice. What about us?"

"Ramon is welcome to visit my estate anytime he wants."

"Just Ramon?"

"Siroc…Aramis…whatever his name is…. Far as I'm concerned, he can go straight to the devil right along with Father. As for you…." Looking into her eyes, the anger finally drained from his. D'Artagnan walked over to where she stood, gently cupping her face in his hands. "I was actually hoping that you would come with me…as my wife." She stood there for a moment, not quite sure what to say. His fingers found their way back to her hair, gently caressing the recently shorn locks. "You cut your hair."

"I did."

He shrugged. "It'll grow back. So…are you interested?" D'Artagnan leaned in for a kiss, but she gently pushed him back, moving the rest of the way into the room and closing the door. "What's wrong?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry, D'Artagnan. It's just…well…this _is_ a pretty big decision. I mean, I'm still trying to figure out this whole 'immortality' thing. You proposing is making this a lot more complicated…no offense."

"It doesn't have to be," he said, gently taking her hands in his. She winced a bit when he grabbed the right one, and the Gascon quickly shifted his grip. "Jacqueline, I love you. I've loved you from the moment you fell out of that tree. Mortal, immortal…I don't care. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I can't imagine my life without you in it." D'Artagnan took a knee, gazing up into her soft, green eyes. "Marry me…please."

"Do you really mean that, D'Artagnan, or is this just a desperate attempt to get me away from Siroc?"

"I mean it, Jacqueline. With all my heart."

Jacqueline smiled. "Well, in that case…. Yes. I'll marry you."

"Y-you will?" he stammered, jaw hanging open in shock.

"Of course. I said yes, didn't I?"

Grinning from ear to ear, D'Artagnan leapt to his feet and swept her into a passionate kiss—the first real, unimpeded one the two had ever shared. "You won't regret this, Jacqueline," he breathed once they parted. "I swear it."

"I know, and I can't wait. But there is something I have to do first."

"What?"

She sighed. "It's one of those immortal things, and not something I can easily get out of. Just give me a month to take care of it, and then we can get married."

"A month?" She nodded. "Well…I've waited this long…I suppose another month couldn't hurt. Just promise me that you'll come back in one piece."

"I'll be just fine, D'Artagnan. Don't worry about me. If I can whip you without breaking a sweat, Bernard's scrawny little henchman will be a breeze."

He chuckled. "Good point. Alright, then. In one month, you and I will get married. And then, we can go back to my estate and work on starting our family."

As soon as D'Artagnan said the word 'family,' Jacqueline's face fell. "Uh…D'Artagnan…. Before you start planning out our future, there's something you should know…." She looked down at the floor, not sure how to begin.

"What's wrong, Jacqueline?" Gently, he tilted her chin back up so she was looking into his eyes once more. "Come on…whatever it is, you can tell me."

"It's just…well…. I'm afraid that I can't have children. I-I'm sorry."

D'Artagnan suddenly backed away from her, looking quite upset. "What? Since when?"

"Since always, I suppose. I just didn't know for sure until the other night. It's one of the downsides to being immortal."

D'Artagnan's eyes grew wide. "Whoa…wait a second. First we're not going to be able to grow old together, and now you can't even give me children?"

Jacqueline glared at him. "I thought you didn't care about the whole immortality thing."

"I thought I was okay with it, but now…." He turned his back toward her.

"What are you saying, exactly? That my not being able to have children suddenly means that we can't get married? Look at me."

He turned back towards her. "Well…yeah."

This time, it was her jaw that dropped in shock. "Why? I mean, if you really want children that badly, we could always adopt."

He shook his head. "I won't raise someone else's children, Jacqueline."

"And why the hell not? I was adopted, and I turned out just fine."

"That's different. You're...well…"

"I'm what? A peasant? It was good enough for my parents, but not for the son of the great D'Artagnan?"

"You don't understand. I have to have an heir to carry on the family line…and that means someone of my own blood. And if you can't give me that…I'm sorry."

"So that's it, then? One minor detail that's not to your liking and suddenly I'm not worthy to be your wife?"

"It's not exactly a minor detail, Jacqueline." He sighed, then took her hand and gently pulled her in closer. "You know…not being able to get married shouldn't mean that we can't be together. I'm sure we could come to some sort of arrangement."

"Excuse me?" She pulled away, glaring. "Are you actually suggesting what I think you are?"

He shrugged. "Why not? It's perfect. You get to stay with the musketeers, I can go back to my estate, and we can get together whenever I come back into the city…which, I can assure you, will be fairly often."

"Forget it! I won't be your mistress…or anyone else's, for that matter. If you want to be with me, then marry me. Otherwise, it's over."

"You're making a mistake."

"No, you are. I swear, you're starting to sound just like your fathe—" Before she could finish, his fist slammed into her jaw, causing her to stumble backwards into the wall. The blow didn't hurt her much…at least, not physically. It was more the fact that he'd struck her at all. Rubbing the now-healing bruise, she looked back over at D'Artagnan to see that his earlier rage had returned.

"How dare you compare me to that heartless bastard!" he bellowed, nostrils flaring.

Jacqueline stared him down. "If the shoe fits…."

"Why I oughta…" He raised his fist again, and she kicked out, catching him right between the legs. The Gascon dropped to his knees, clutching the injured area and moaning in pain. "You…you bitch!"

She narrowed her eyes. "Touch me again, D'Artagnan, and I'll kill you."

Nodding, he collected himself and climbed back to his feet. "I must've been out of my mind," he muttered. "Asking you was a mistake."

"For once, I agree."

D'Artagnan glared. "You know, there's probably a thousand girls in this city who'd leap at the offer I made you."

"Good. Why don't you ask one of them?"

"You know what…I think I'll do just that. I gave you your chance, Jacqueline. You don't want it, fine. After the funeral, you won't see me for dust! You and your friends can just stay the hell out of my life!" With that, he grabbed his duffel and stormed out of the room. Siroc and Ramon happened to be on the other side of the door, and he pushed past them without so much as a word.

Once he was gone, Jacqueline collapsed onto the bed, no longer able to hold back the tears that had been building since the fight began. Her remaining comrades rushed over immediately.

"Are you alright, Jacqueline?" Siroc asked. "What happened?"

She looked up at the blonde, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "D'Artagnan…he proposed, then took it back when I told him I couldn't have children. And then…h-he…"

"He what? What did he do?"

"He hit me. The son of a bitch actually hit me!"

Both men swore, the Spaniard reaching for his blade as he did. Siroc quickly waved him off. "No need for that…yet." Nodding, Ramon let his hand drop back to his side. The inventor sighed, shaking his head. "I was afraid of something like this."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Let's just say that he's hardly the first D'Artagnan to be so ill-tempered. Ramon, you stay here with Jacqueline. It's high time I had a nice, long talk with my godson."

Ramon's eyebrow shot up. "Your godson…oh…right…the Aramis thing. Alright. I'll keep an eye on mi amiga while you go straighten him out."

Siroc nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He ran a gentle hand over Jacqueline's hair, then turned and stalked out of the room after his wayward godchild.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

After a brief stop to clean himself up a bit—walking the streets of Paris while covered in blood would have attracted too much attention—Siroc caught sight of D'Artagnan just as he was coming out of the dress shop. The lovely Giselle was right behind him, and he turned and placed a deep, seemingly passionate kiss on her lips. Obviously, he was already over Jacqueline. In fact, it would appear that he'd practically vaulted over her and into the arms of the nearest interested female. Seething at the boy's callousness, Siroc strode over to the pair and loudly cleared his throat, causing them to leap apart.

D'Artagnan glared. "Do you mind?"

"Not particularly. Then again, it's not me you should be worried about." Shooting the Gascon a glare of his own, Siroc turned towards the young lady he was with. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle…Giselle, is it?"

She nodded. "And you're Siroc, right? The inventor?"

"That'd be me."

"You were the one who built that…whatever it was…that goes underwater?"

"The sub-aquatic chamber…one of my more successful inventions. So…I'm guessing that some sort of congratulations is in order, here?"

"Oui. D'Artagnan just asked me to marry him. I said yes, of course."

"Of course," the immortal muttered, with just a hint of sarcasm. "Well…I apologize for cutting your celebration short, Mademoiselle, but I really need to have a word with your fiancée."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I have nothing further to say to you, _Siroc_."

"That's too bad, because I have plenty to say to you." Not giving his former comrade a chance to protest, Siroc grabbed his arm and dragged him none-too-gently over to the nearest church, which happened to be St. Julien le Pauvre. He knew that holy ground didn't offer protection from mortals, but he still felt safer having this type of conversation there rather than out in the middle of the street. Not to mention the fact that an old friend just happened to call that particular church home.

On reaching his destination, Siroc pulled his godson over to the nearest pew and made him sit. D'Artagnan tried to stand up, but the immortal quickly pushed him back down.

"What the hell are you doing? This…this is kidnapping! I could have you arrested!"

Siroc rolled his eyes. "I'm not kidnapping you, D'Artagnan. This is what I like to call an intervention. So you're going to sit right there and listen to what I have to say, whether you like it or not."

D'Artagnan crossed his arms, glowering. "Why should I? You stopped being my godfather a long time ago…_Aramis_."

He sighed, dropping down into the pew next to the angry young mortal. "What do you want me to say, Charles?"

"Admitting how cruel and selfish you are would be a nice start."

The immortal shook his head. "Alright…maybe it was wrong of me to just up and leave the way I did. Perhaps I should've taken you aside first…explained things a bit better. But it wasn't exactly easy for me either. You have to understand…I didn't exactly have much choice. People were starting to notice the fact that I wasn't getting any older, and make-up can only go so far to fake it. If I'd stayed any longer, I would have been putting all of you in danger. After all, in this day and age, someone like me could easily be mistaken for a sorcerer. And if I were guilty of practicing the 'black arts,' the rest of you would've been as well, merely by virtue of association. So I figured that all of you would be better off if I left."

D'Artagnan snorted. "Better off? Is that what you think? You were the one holding everything together."

"You're exaggerating."

"Am I?" He turned his head, looking Siroc in the eyes for the first time since the sanctum. And what the immortal saw in those eyes was pain…pain that he'd caused. "About a year after you abandoned us, Uncle Athos was killed in a duel with one of the cardinal's guards…a duel I'm certain YOU could've talked him out of had you actually bothered to stick around. He always listened to you…"

As D'Artagnan's words registered, Siroc let out a heavy breath, dropping his head into his hands. He'd known that his old comrades would one day leave this world—they were mortal, after all—but he never expected it to happen so soon, nor that his absence might very well have been the cause. Losing the elder D'Artagnan that morning had been bad enough, but to find out that Athos had been dead for well over a decade…. He could feel tears forming, and quickly wiped them away.

"So Athos is gone, then?" The Gascon nodded. "And Porthos?"

He shrugged. "No idea. He was never the same after Uncle Athos died. One day, he set sail in that ship of his and no one's seen or heard from him since."

"And I suppose you're going to blame me for that as well."

"Why shouldn't I?" D'Artagnan snapped, jumping to his feet. "You were the one who took off, _Uncle_. Did you ever stop to think that there were people here who actually needed you? Or have you been immortal so long that you've forgotten what it feels like to be human?"

"I _am_ human," Siroc said quietly. "Just with a longer lifeline."

"Then why don't you try acting like it?" Shaking his head, the Gascon turned and headed for the door. Siroc leapt after him, latching onto his arm. "Let go of me."

"Not until you listen to what I have to say."

"I've been listening to you, old man, and have yet to hear anything worthwhile." D'Artagnan snatched his arm from Siroc's grasp and continued towards the exit, only to run into a man dressed as a monk.

"Problems?" he asked, glancing past the Legend's son to where Siroc stood.

"No problems here, Father," Siroc replied. Gently pushing D'Artagnan aside, he went over and gave the priest a warm, brotherly hug. "You heard what happened?"

He nodded. "Such a pity, too. Charles was a good man." D'Artagnan snorted, and both men looked his way. "His son?"

"Yes," Siroc answered, as D'Artagnan was too busy glaring. "Father Darius, meet Charles de Batz-Castlemore II, Comte D'Artagnan. D'Artagnan, this is Father Darius, an _old_ friend of mine." Rolling his eyes, D'Artagnan gestured rather rudely to them both before turning and heading for the exit leading out to the churchyard. Siroc sighed, giving Darius an apologetic look. "You'll have to excuse him…this hasn't exactly been a good day."

"I can imagine. Does he know about…?"

"Yeah. Another musketeer was pulled into the Game just the other day—one of our friends, in fact—and he hasn't been taking it that well. His already short fuse has been steadily getting shorter, and about an hour ago, he actually lashed out and hit her."

Darius' eyebrow shot up. "Her?"

"Long story."

"My favorite kind. You can tell me all about it as we walk," he said, gesturing in the direction D'Artagnan had stormed off. Siroc nodded, and the two of them headed after the young mortal. He gave Darius a rather condensed version of Jacqueline's story, from her arrival as 'Jacques LePonte' to the events of that morning, focusing mostly on the major events that had taken place in that time and leaving out all the unimportant minor details—including the feelings that he had developed for the bold young woman who'd thrust her way into their lives all those months ago. Darius gave him an odd look, like he knew the younger immortal was leaving something out, but wisely decided not to press the matter.

On reaching the churchyard, the immortals found D'Artagnan kneeling next to a grave—his mother's. Glancing around, Siroc saw that Athos had been laid to rest just a short distance away. With a sad smile, Darius laid a comforting hand on the younger immortal's shoulder. "Go on," he whispered. Nodding, Siroc did just that, pausing briefly in front of Athos' grave before approaching his godson.

"Can't you people take a hint?" the Gascon growled, not even looking up.

Siroc sighed, kneeling down next to him. "I know you're angry, but please…just humor me for a few minutes."

D'Artagnan stood up, crossing his arms as he glared at the immortal. "Fine. I'm listening." Rising to his own feet, Siroc gently steered him over to a nearby bench and sat him down.

"If you don't mind, D'Artagnan, I'd like to tell you a little story about a young musketeer recruit I once knew by the name of Charles de Batz."

"My father, you mean…Charles de Batz-Castlemore."

Siroc nodded. "That's right, but when I first met him, it was just 'de Batz.' He didn't add 'Castlemore'—which was actually your grandmother's maiden name—to his surname until after Louis XIII made him Comte D'Artagnan." He sighed. "How much do you know about your grandfather?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question."

D'Artagnan took a deep breath, shaking his head. "Not much. It wasn't a subject Father liked to talk about. I've heard that he was a minor noble of sorts—a title, some land, but not particularly wealthy."

"Well, they had the 'not wealthy' part right, but everything else is pure fiction. In truth, your grandfather was a poor pig farmer. He was also a violent drunk who beat the hell out of his wife and child whenever he became inebriated…and sometimes even when he was sober. I admit, I only met the man once, but it was all the time I needed to assess his character. Your father, when I first met him, was naught but a scared kid…barely even knew which way to hold a sword, if you can believe it. Technically, he was a grown man, but living under that man's iron rule didn't give him much chance to really grow up. And having been in a similar situation myself back when I was still mortal, I felt for him as a kindred spirit of sorts. I took the lad under my wing…helped mold him into the 'legendary' figure France has come to see him as. You've heard the story of how he came to be a musketeer, I assume…the 'three duels' and whatnot." D'Artagnan nodded. "The part about him bumbling his way into those duels is true, but the rest of the story was made up to make him look good…build the legend. Truth is, his father never knew Captain Treville, and Charles didn't join the musketeers because he was looking for adventure. He joined because he couldn't deal with things at home anymore and needed to be someplace where he'd feel safe. As for the duels…well, he was lucky that Richelieu's men showed up when they did, otherwise there might not have been a legend to speak of. Like I said before, back then he didn't even know how to hold a sword properly, let alone use it."

"Fascinating as all this is," D'Artagnan interrupted, "what's your point? What does this have to do with me?"

"Would you be patient? I'm getting there."

"Fine," he huffed, looking like a petulant child.

"Anyway…several years later, not long after you were born, your father began to manifest the same sorts of violent tendencies as your grandfather. Luckily, I caught on before it became too serious and brought him here…to Darius. He may be a priest, but believe me when I say he has a lot of experience when it comes to dealing with this sort of thing. Unfortunately, Charles wasn't exactly known for his patience. He didn't want to become his father, by any means, but at the same time he felt that Darius' way of helping wasn't fast enough. So he decided that the best way to keep from following in his father's footsteps was to simply not be around you or your mother. That's why he spent so much time away…he was just trying to protect you."

"The same way you tried to protect me…by abandoning me?"

Siroc nodded. "Alright…I guess I had that coming."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me."

"Think about it, D'Artagnan. You've always been a bit of a hothead, but over the past couple of days it's gotten worse. I don't know if it was my revealing the truth that triggered it, or if it was just extremely coincidental timing, but you've been pretty hostile towards me ever since finding out that Jacqueline and I are immortal. Ramon told me about how you nearly took his head off when he stopped you from charging in after Bernard and his men, not to mention you snapping at him and trying to beat up the wall of the common room. When we were interrogating the duc, frankly, I think you enjoyed it a little too much. And then there was this morning. You killed a man in cold blood—"

"He killed my father!"

"—and then you lashed out and hit Jacqueline. And for what? Because she can't have your child? Or did you do something stupid like ask her to be your mistress and her answer wasn't to your liking?"

D'Artagnan glared, shooting to his feet. "That's none of your damn business! This conversation is over!" He tried to walk away, but Siroc was faster.

"No, it isn't. You're lucky that Jacqueline is immortal. If she wasn't, she could've been seriously hurt. As it is, you've done quite a bit of damage to her feelings. She was ready to give up everything to be with you, and you shot her down just because she can't give you an heir. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? I mean, Jacqueline loves you…or at least she did before you turned into an ogre. Shouldn't that have been enough?"

The Gascon stared at him for a moment, then dropped his gaze. "You…you're right. I'm an idiot. But what do you want me to do? It's a bit late to take that back…especially since I already proposed to Giselle."

"What should you do? You should apologize, and then spend some time with Father Darius…work through this before you end up hurting Giselle as well."

"Giselle…so you don't think I should try and make things work with Jacqueline?"

Siroc shook his head. "Honestly…no, I don't. Jacqueline deserves someone who'll love her for who she is…all of who she is. Someone who won't spend half of their married lives resenting the fact that she's going to remain exactly as she is for eternity… that she can't have children of her own…that there's always going to be some part of her life that he'll never be able to fully understand. And it's become quite clear that you're not that person. Don't get me wrong…for all your faults, you are a good man. But not everyone's cut out to be that closely involved with immortals. I can't tell you what to do, D'Artagnan. After all, it is your life. Personally, I think you're far better suited for someone like Giselle, but it's ultimately your decision. I just hope you make the right one." He placed a hand on D'Artagnan's shoulder, looking the younger man right in the eyes. "Take some time to think it over. In the meantime, I'm going to talk to Father Darius…see if I can arrange for Charles to be brought here for burial. I'm sure that's what he would've wanted."

D'Artagnan nodded. "That's why Mama asked to be laid here. She didn't want him to have to choose between her and his comrades."

"Your mother was a smart woman. I'll go see to the arrangements." Giving his godson's shoulder an affectionate pat, Siroc then headed over to where Darius was waiting, leaving D'Artagnan alone with his thoughts.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

While Siroc headed off to deal with D'Artagnan, Jacqueline returned to her quarters and changed into a clean uniform, and then Ramon took her to the Café Nouveau to get some breakfast after a brief stop by Duval's office to reclaim her sword. The mood at the café was unusually somber. Apparently, news of the Legend's demise had traveled pretty fast. Even the typically cheery waitresses were in mourning.

The musketeer duo sat down at their group's usual table, and Ramon ordered them each a bowl of coffee and a plate of whatever the house special was. It took longer than usual for their order to arrive, and when it did, what they got wasn't quite up to the café's usual standards. Of course, given the circumstances, it was perfectly understandable, so they simply made due. Well…Ramon did, anyway. Jacqueline tried, but in spite of the fact that she hadn't had any food in over a day, she just couldn't bring herself to eat anything. All she could think about was D'Artagnan.

"¿Está bien usted? (Are you okay?)"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry…it's just…I'm still trying to figure out what went wrong in there. I mean, one minute D'Artagnan's professing his undying love, and the next he's a snarling beast. Why would he turn on me like that? What's going on?"

Ramon shrugged. "I wish I knew amiga. I've known D'Artagnan for a couple of years, now, and he's never acted like this before. Sure, he's a bit impulsivo, but it's never been this bad."

Jacqueline sighed, taking a sip of her coffee. "You know, I can't help but think that maybe it's my fault…I somehow brought this on myself. If I'd been a normal woman who could grow old and have kids…."

"Nonsense. Don't even think like that."

"Why shouldn't I? If I was able to have children of my own, there wouldn't have even been a fight in the first place."

"But that's not your fault. He's the one placing so much importance on continuing his bloodline. Personally, I think the whole thing about 'noble blood' es sandeces anyway. As your amigo and musketeer brother, I say this to you: you are a beautiful, intelligent, and absolutely amazing woman. Any man would be lucky to have you even interested in him. And if D'Artagnan can't see that, he is un tonto. It's his loss, and you deserve better. Comprende?" Giving her a reassuring smile, Ramon reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. She nodded.

"Thank you."

"De nada." He pulled his hand back, returning his attention to the meal in front of him. Jacqueline sipped some more of her coffee, letting her eyes wander the room.

Just then, the door of the café opened, admitting a beaming Giselle inside. She bubbled over to a group of waitresses, showing off something on her left hand. Their mood suddenly seemed to lift, and they began cooing excitedly over whatever news the dressmaker had brought. Jacqueline couldn't hear most of the conversation, but one name came through loud and clear—D'Artagnan. And it didn't take a brain like Siroc's to figure out what was going on.

Seeing red, Jacqueline shot to her feet, automatically reaching for her blade. Ramon was behind her in seconds, hands latching onto her shoulders. "Calmas," he whispered.

"Calm?" she hissed. "You expect me to be calm? It wasn't even an hour ago that D'Artagnan was asking ME to marry him. He sure as hell moved on pretty damn fast. I ought to go right over there and…."

"And what? Accuse her of stealing your man? Jacqueline Roget is supposed to be dead, remember? You're Jacques LePonte now. And Jacques would have absolutely no reason to be angry about his comrade proposing to the lovely Giselle. You can go over and offer your congratulations, or you can sit down and pretend you didn't see her come in, but I won't let you compromise your identity by rushing over there and launching yourself at her like a jilted bride. Okay?"

As his words sank in, some of the anger faded. He was right, of course. She sighed, shrugging off Ramon's grip and sinking back down into her seat. The Spaniard sat back down as well, attempting once again to finish his meal. Jacqueline picked up her coffee, and was about to finish it when her head was filled with a sensation that was growing more and more familiar. She quickly drained the last of the drink, then turned her head in time to see Siroc walk into the café, followed by a cowed D'Artagnan.

Naturally, as soon as Giselle caught sight of her fiancée, she rushed over. They kissed, and it took every ounce of self-control Jacqueline possessed not to visibly react. Her hand traveled once more to the hilt of her rapier, gripping it tightly as she tried to calm herself.

Once the pair parted, D'Artagnan made his way over to the table. "Jacques, can we talk?"

She glared. "I have nothing to say to you, D'Artagnan. Why don't you go spend some time with your new fiancée?"

He sighed. "Okay, I deserved that. But please…just hear me out."

Jacqueline looked around the room, then nodded. "Fine. Let's take this outside, shall we?" Not waiting for an answer, she grabbed D'Artagnan's arm and steered him out the café's rear door, into the alleyway behind the establishment. Still gripping the hilt of her sword, she pushed him against the wall, scowling as she stared him down. "This had better be good."

D'Artagnan hung his head, too ashamed to even look her in the eyes. "I…I'm sorry, Jacqueline. I shouldn't have let things get out of hand like that."

"Out of hand?" she hissed. "You HIT me, D'Artagnan. And that was after you asked me to be your whore. I'd say 'out of hand' is one hell of an understatement."

Cringing as her words hit home, he eventually managed a slight nod. "I know. I'm an idiot. Short tempers run in the family, or so it would seem, and I foolishly allowed the events of the past couple of days eat away at the control I thought I had over mine. In the end, I took everything out on you…the worst decision I've ever made." He sighed, daring a glance into her eyes. "I don't expect you to forgive me, Jacqueline. Hell, I'm not even sure I can forgive myself for this."

"Then what do you expect, exactly?"

"Honestly…I have no idea. All I know is that I don't want to lose my best friend."

"Friend?" she asked, releasing her grip on her sword and leaning against the opposite wall. "Is that all I am to you, D'Artagnan? Just a friend?"

"I do believe I said 'best' friend. Jacqueline, you probably know me better than anyone."

She sighed, shifting her gaze to the ground in front of her. "Up until this morning, I thought I did. But whoever was in that room with me was a total stranger. The D'Artagnan I know and consider a friend would never have said those things, let alone strike me."

"I know," he said quietly.

"And frankly," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken, "I'm not sure which hurt me worse. The actual blow, or the fact that you suddenly decided that I'm not good enough to be your wife just because I can't have children." At that, Jacqueline met his eyes once more. When she did, D'Artagnan could see the pain and anger in her own. "And then to see you with Giselle, not even an hour after our fight. I suppose she's more worthy because she can give you your damned heirs…."

"No, that's not…." He sighed. "Look…Jacqueline, I _do_ love you, and I always will. The fact that you can't have children doesn't make you less worthy of anything, and I'm a fool for saying otherwise. But, that being said, I don't think it would ever work between us."

"Why not? Is it because I'm immortal?"

"Sort of…but it's not you. It's me."

"Meaning…?"

He took a deep breath, averting his eyes as he could no longer bring himself to meet hers. "I wish to God I didn't feel this way, but part of me can't help but resent your immortality. Yes, I know that you didn't exactly choose to be this way, but it's just hard for me to accept that we can't grow old together as we'd planned, or that there's always going to be this part of your life that I'll never be able to fully understand. If we did get married, sooner or later we'd end up hating each other. And I couldn't bear that." Another sigh, and D'Artagnan dared to shift his gaze back to her eyes. "I know it's too late to take back what happened in my quarters, and I realize that proposing to Giselle so soon was rather insensitive of me, but maybe it's for the best. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I would like very much to remain your friend, even if we're not as close as we used to be." A hopeful expression crossed his features, his mouth twisting itself into the odd little half-smile that seemed to be reserved only for her.

Jacqueline absently rubbed her chin as she considered his words. Loathe as she was to admit it, D'Artagnan had a point. Would marriage really be worth it if they'd both just end up miserable? She still loved him, even after what happened, but the incident had made it quite clear that her immortality was too great a barrier for their relationship—at least in the romantic sense of the word—to overcome.

As she pondered this latest development, Jacqueline could almost hear her mother's voice ringing in her ears. '_If you love someone, cherie, sometimes you have to let them go_.' At the time, her mother had been referring to a favorite pet that had to be given away when they could no longer afford to care for it, but the advice seemed just as sound now as it did back then.

Jacqueline sighed, knowing what she had to do. But first, there was something she needed to know. Pushing away from the wall, she moved in closer to D'Artagnan. "Do you love her?" she asked, looking him straight in the eyes.

"W-what?"

"Giselle. Do you love her, or is she just a substitute for me?"

"Truthfully? I do care about Giselle, a lot."

"But do you love her?"

"It's complicated, Jacqueline."

"It shouldn't be. Either you love her, or you don't. Which is it?"

"I suppose I do."

Jacqueline's eyebrow shot up. "Suppose?"

He sighed. "My feelings for Giselle aren't quite as deep or passionate as those I had for you, but that doesn't mean it's not love. Just a different sort. I can honestly see spending the rest of my life with her."

"Feelings you 'had' for me? Are you saying that they've suddenly disappeared?"

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

D'Artagnan frowned. "What's with the interrogation session? I already said I was sorry."

"I just want to make sure that you're marrying this girl for the right reasons, that's all."

"Don't worry. I'm not doing it out of spite, if that's what you're getting at. I didn't just leap into the arms of the nearest interested female after our fight, as I'm sure Siroc believes. In truth, I've been attracted to Giselle for almost as long as I've liked you. My feelings for you were just stronger. But Giselle is also a beautiful woman, with a good heart. And a strong woman as well. She stood up to the Darkwoods Gang when they threatened her and her mother, even though doing so nearly got her killed. Frankly, I think I'm lucky that she still wants to be with me, even after I virtually abandoned her to pursue you. So yes, I'm marrying her for the right reasons. I really do want to spend my life with Giselle. She'll never want for anything, and I won't leave her lonely like my father did to my mother. I just want to make her happy."

Jacqueline nodded. "Well, see to it that you do." Her hands shot out, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him close. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, D'Artagnan, and if I ever hear that you've hurt her in any way, you'll find yourself a foot shorter and an octave higher. Am I making myself clear?"

D'Artagnan looked her in the eyes, and it was clear that she was deadly serious. He gulped. "A-absolutely. Couldn't be clearer."

"Good." She released her grip, stepping back to give him some breathing room. "I presume you haven't changed your mind about the musketeers."

He shook his head. "I liked being a musketeer, don't get me wrong. But it's just not the most important thing in my life. If I had to choose between the musketeers and my family, family would win every time. I was ready to leave when I thought Little D was my son, and if you'd ever said yes any of the times I asked you to run off with me, I would've resigned in a heartbeat. Serving the King is a noble calling, to be sure, but frankly, I'd much prefer to die an old man in my bed, surrounded by friends and family, than to get myself killed in the line of duty like Father. And if that makes me a coward, so be it. I'd rather be a coward than to have my children always wondering why their father is never around."

"You're not a coward, D'Artagnan. In fact, I think it's admirable that you're willing to give up a life of adventure in order to raise a family. Not many men would."

"Thank you…for understanding, I mean. I was half-afraid you'd try to drag me kicking and screaming back to Duval."

She chuckled. "Tempting as that sounds, it _is_ your life. Who am I to tell you what to do with it? Just promise that you'll at least visit once in awhile."

"Not a problem. In fact, I plan on returning to the city at least a few times a month." Her eyebrow shot up, and he quickly waved her off. "Not like that. See, Siroc has this friend at St. Julien's…Father Daruis. He's agreed to help me learn to control myself better so that incidents like the one this morning don't happen again. And once I finish talking to him, I see no reason why I couldn't swing by the garrison for a bit before going home. Of course, you all are more than welcome to come visit my estate as well. Even Siroc."

"So you've forgiven him?"

"Not quite, but I figure I should at least give him another chance. He might've screwed things up as Uncle Aramis, but Siroc has been a pretty good friend. It'd be a shame to throw that away over a few mistakes."

"My sentiments exactly," she said, actually smiling at him.

"So…we're good, then?"

"Almost." All of a sudden, her fist shot forward, catching D'Artagnan right across the jaw and sending him sprawling on the ground. "Now, we're good." Jacqueline held out her hand, which he grabbed, allowing her to help him up while he used the other one to rub his sore jaw.

"I suppose I had that coming."

"You could say that. So, shall we head back inside before your fiancée decides to send out a search party?"

He nodded, and the two returned to the café, where their friends and Giselle were patiently waiting.

"Work everything out okay?" Siroc asked, absently noting the bruise forming on D'Artagnan's jaw.

Jacqueline nodded. "Pretty much."

As she spoke, Giselle rushed over to her fiancée. "Did he hurt you?" she asked, gently running her fingers along his jaw line.

"I'm fine, Giselle," D'Artagnan assured her. "Believe me, this is nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Siroc cleared his throat, interrupting the lovebirds just as they were about to kiss. "Well, as lovely as this has been, we musketeers really should be heading back to the garrison. Are you sure you don't want to join us, D'Artagnan?"

"I'm sure. Tell the captain I'll be by later to hand in my official resignation."

Siroc nodded. "Very well. Jacques, Ramon…let's get back before Duval decides to make us clean the dungeons or something."

"Good idea," Jacqueline agreed. She looked over at D'Artagnan and Giselle. It still hurt to see them together, but all she really wanted was for him to be happy. And if it took marrying the dressmaker for that to happen, then she'd just have to live with it. "Good luck, D'Artagnan," she said, giving him a small smile. "I'll see you later, right?"

"Count on it."

They shook hands, then she moved over to join Siroc. Ramon said his goodbyes to their onetime comrade as well, and the musketeer trio made their way back to the garrison.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The next day, all of Paris—maybe even all of France—gathered to pay tribute to the fallen Legend. In actuality, Charles de Batz-Castlemore, Comte D'Artagnan had been laid to rest the night before, in a small, private ceremony at St. Julien's. After all that had happened, the last thing the younger D'Artagnan needed was thousands of strangers crowding around, telling him how sorry they were as he buried his father. Louis had understood, and today's memorial ceremony was the compromise.

D'Artagnan, in civilian clothing and accompanied by his fiancée, stood next to the King as he gave a stirring eulogy praising the Legend's numerous great deeds and his outstanding service to the Crown. And, for once, the son of the Legend listened without complaint. Siroc could swear he even saw tears on his former comrade's cheeks.

Siroc, along with Jacques, Ramon, and a few other recruits whose names he couldn't remember, were all in full dress uniform and acting as a sort of honor guard for the occasion. He glanced over at his student, noting how nicely she'd cleaned up after her ordeal in the sanctum. The hack job she'd done on her hair the other day had been repaired by the garrison barber, leaving it neatly trimmed and almost as short as Bernard's. It was a bit longer on top, but she had it slicked back. Her false beard was fixed firmly in place, and, by the way she was holding herself, Siroc could tell she'd bound her chest a bit more stringently than usual. Not that he could blame her, as the eyes of Paris were all focused on the musketeers at the moment. Still, it did bother him that she had to go to such lengths to preserve her disguise. '_First chance I get_,' he quietly vowed, '_I'm going to come up with a better way for her to do that…one that won't be nearly so uncomfortable. Good thing she's immortal, or I'd fear that she'd end up doing permanent damage_.'

Just then, he felt something brush against his senses. Discreetly scanning the crowd, he caught sight of bright reddish-blonde hair. A moment later, the owner of said hair moved out of sight, followed by a dark-haired companion. Siroc allowed himself to relax, though he did move his purse someplace a bit safer. He didn't have much on him at the moment, but the last thing he needed was for a certain sticky-fingered immortal to rob him blind. He glanced back over at Jacqueline, whose eyes were nervously darting about in search of the mystery immortal, and he gave her a small smile to assure her that it was okay.

Someone nudged him, and it was then that Siroc realized that most of the ceremony had already passed while he'd allowed his thoughts to wander. Ramon was finishing up a rhapsody he'd composed for the occasion, and the citizens of Paris were starting to file past a rapier and tabard that had been laid out on a bier in lieu of a body in order to pay their last respects. He moved into position next to the bier, and Jacqueline took the opportunity to get next to him while the other recruits did the same at the opposite end.

"Who were they?" Jacqueline whispered.

"Who?"

"The immortals that I felt a little while ago."

"Oh, them. Rebecca Horne and Amanda…whatever she's calling herself these days."

"Old friends?"

He nodded. "Well, Rebecca is, anyway. She's at least twice my age and I've known her almost as long as I've been immortal. As for Amanda…well, it's complicated. She's Rebecca's student, a little over 800 years old. Don't worry, though. Amanda won't be after your head. Your purse, though…that's another matter."

"Thief?"

"Thief, con artist…I don't think the woman has done an honest day's work in her whole life. Granted, the first time around she was a street urchin with little choice but to steal if she wanted to eat, but since becoming immortal she's turned deceit into an art form."

"That bad?"

Siroc shrugged. "I wouldn't say 'bad,' exactly. She does have a good heart, deep down. Otherwise Rebecca would've never taken her in."

"Then why don't you like her?"

"Who said I didn't?" Her eyebrow shot up, and he sighed. "Okay, okay. Let's just say that she and I have some personal issues to work out and leave it at that. Alright?"

"Fine," she huffed, a bit annoyed that he was being so secretive. Duval walked up to them and cleared his throat, and both immortals quickly snapped to attention. He gave the pair a disapproving look before returning to Louis' side. Once he was gone, they relaxed, but stayed silent until the last of the mourners had paid their respects to the Legend.

Later that evening, the musketeer trio was gathered in the lab, having been given the night off. Siroc was working on the Impenetrable he'd promised Louis, and the three were discussing plans for the next month.

"And how exactly do you plan on getting leave for a whole month, Siroc?" Jacqueline asked.

"She's got a point, amigo. The capitan may have his moments, but I've never known him to be _that_ generous…even for his favorites."

Siroc smiled. "Don't worry. I've got a plan. What I'm worried about is finding you a decent sword, Jacqueline."

"What are you talking about? I have a sword."

"I know, but it's not the kind you're going to need. Rapiers are primarily designed for thrusting. They have no cutting edge. What you need is a good broadsword, but those aren't exactly common these days, and you tossed the first decent one I've seen in decades into that lake."

Jacqueline scowled. "I had my reasons, Siroc. You don't need to keep bringing it up."

"I'm just saying…."

"Don't. I'm not getting into this with you again. That sword was trouble, and I'm glad I got rid of it. End of discussion."

"Alright," Siroc said, holding his hands up in surrender. "You still need a good sword, though."

"How about a cutlass?" Ramon chimed in. "Small, lightweight, and far more common than broadswords. Not to mention that the technique is similar to what you already know, Jacqueline."

Her eyebrow shot up. "How do you know so much, Ramon?"

He shrugged. "Tio Alejandro was a sailor in his youth. He showed me a few things."

"Do you think you can get hold of one?" Siroc asked. "Preferably within the next few days?"

"Si. I can go get it right now, in fact. There happens to be one in my quarters. Tio Alejandro gave it to me before I left Spain."

Jacqueline shook her head. "I can't accept that, Ramon. It was a gift from your uncle."

"Yes, you can. I want you to have it, mi amiga. Better it get some use in protecting your cabeza than sit around collecting dust."

"Are you sure?"

Ramon nodded. "Take it. I insist."

"Well…since you put it that way…." Smiling, the Spaniard kissed both her cheeks before heading off to retrieve the blade. Jacqueline watched him leave, then turned to Siroc. "Happy now?"

"Personally, I'd still prefer you use a nice, sturdy broadsword. However, we really don't have the time to run around looking for one, so I suppose the cutlass will have to do."

Jacqueline rolled her eyes, and was about to comment when a knock came at the door. Not expecting anyone—at least, not anyone who'd bother knocking—Siroc grabbed his rapier and cautiously made his way over. Slowly, he opened the door to reveal what looked to be a palace messenger.

"Jacques LePonte?"

"Who wants to know?" Siroc growled, bringing the blade into the mortal's line of sight. The young man gulped, but managed to maintain his composure.

"I-I have a message from the King. It's for Private LePonte's eyes only."

"A message from the King, eh? How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"It's all in here," he said, pulling a scroll from inside his jacket. Siroc quickly snatched it from his hand and began to examine it. The scroll looked authentic enough, right down to the Royal seal. With a shrug, he sheathed his blade and gave the messenger a few coins for his trouble.

Once the young man had scampered off, Siroc went over to Jacqueline and handed her the scroll. "I believe this is yours."

"What could His Majesty possibly want with me?"

"Only one way to find out." He gestured towards the scroll.

No longer able to contain her curiosity, Jacqueline broke the seal and read through the message. "He wants me to come to the palace immediately. Says he has some important business to discuss with me."

"What kind of business?"

She shook her head. "The note doesn't say."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

"Actually…he wants me to come alone."

"Alone?"

"That's what the note said."

Siroc scowled. "I don't like it. Bernard is still out there."

"The palace isn't that far, and there's a chapel inside it. I'll be fine. Would you really ask me to disobey a direct order from the King?"

"I'm just worried, that's all. If anything ever happened to you…."

"It won't."

Just then, Ramon re-entered the lab. "Here you go, amiga," he said, handing her the sword. It was rather plain-looking, with a curved, single-edged blade and a simple knuckle guard. "I know it's not much to look at, but it did save Tio Alejandro's life on more than one occasion. It should serve you well."

"Thank you, Ramon."

"De nada."

"See Siroc? I have a good sword, now. I'll be just fine."

Ramon looked between them, confused. "What's going on?"

"His Majesty sent me a message, asking me to come to the palace. Siroc seems to be having a bit of the trouble with the 'come alone' part of the note."

"Why? You're a big girl, and I doubt Bernard would be stupid enough to show his face this soon after what happened in the sanctum."

"That's what I'm saying."

Siroc sighed. "It would seem I'm outnumbered."

"Is that a yes?"

"Just as long as you come straight back here afterwards. No wandering the streets."

"Yes, mother," Jacqueline muttered sarcastically.

Siroc's frown deepened. "I'm serious, Jacqueline. This isn't a game. If you do run into any other immortals—especially if it's Bernard—don't try to take them on. Head to holy ground, send a message here, and stay put until I come get you. Okay?"

She nodded. "Anything else?"

"Just be careful, that's all."

"I'm always careful," she huffed.

Now it was Siroc's turn to roll his eyes. "Famous last words."

Choosing to ignore that last comment, Jacqueline took her new sword and looked at it for a moment before turning her attention back to Siroc. "What exactly am I supposed to do with this? I mean, if I wear the cutlass instead of my musketeer blade, people might start asking questions."

Siroc cracked a smile. "Thought you'd never ask." He went over to a trunk in the corner and, after a bit of digging, produced a musketeer jacket.

"I already have one of those, Siroc. How is that going to help?"

"This one happens to be specially designed for this sort of thing." He held open the left side, and she could see something sewn into the lining. "May I?" he asked, indicating the sword. Nodding, she handed the blade over to Siroc, who slipped it into the jacket's addition. "See, it's a hidden sheath. I sewed it in at just the right angle to keep it from changing the jacket's shape too much, and look…" He pulled down on the blade, causing the top of the sheath to come open. "It's designed to release with just a little bit of pressure, so you won't have to fumble if you need the blade quickly." Still smiling at his own brilliance, he put the sheath back together, returned the sword to it, and handed the jacket over to Jacqueline, who quickly changed it with the one she was currently wearing. "It doesn't work with larger blades, unfortunately. For that, you'd need a longer coat. But it should suffice for what you have now."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"No problem. Now get going before I change my mind."

"Yes sir," she said, tossing off a mock salute. Laughing, she had to duck as the inventor chucked a wad of parchment at her head. She threw it back, then headed out the door before he could retaliate.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Unsure of what to expect, Jacqueline cautiously made her way into the throne room of the palace. Louis was waiting, dressed casually in a red silk robe and without his usual wig and make-up. He was seated on the throne, his elbows on his knees and the bridge of his nose resting against his fingers. The young monarch glanced up when he heard her enter and smiled.

"LePonte."

Jacqueline came to attention. "You wanted to see me, Sire?"

"Yes, I did. Please…have a seat." He gestured to the chair next to him, where his mother usually sat.

"I-I can't. That's the Queen's throne."

"I'm well aware of that, LePonte. It's just us here, and if I say you can sit, that means it's okay."

"Well…alright." After a moment's hesitation, she sat where the King had indicated, forcing herself to ignore how strange it felt to be occupying a seat meant for royalty. As she did, Louis' expression turned serious.

"Captain Duval told me what happened to your family. I'm sorry. Maybe if I'd done something about Mazarin sooner…."

Jacqueline shook her head. "It's not your fault, Sire. You couldn't have known."

Louis scratched his chin. "I did know…at least, I had my suspicions. I'm not as empty-headed as most people seem to think."

"I'm not sure I understand, Your Majesty."

Louis smiled. "It's simple, really. If my enemies think me a foolish boy, they'll underestimate my abilities. They'll become overconfident, and that's where I gain the advantage."

"That's not exactly what I meant, Sire. Pardon me if this seems a bit forward, but if you suspected Mazarin of wrongdoing before now, why didn't you take action?"

Louis sighed. "You know, LePonte…sometimes, I envy you musketeers. You see injustice, you fight it. I'm afraid that's a luxury I don't always have. My political situation is rather precarious, to say the least. It seems like half of the nobility—many of them my own relatives—would love nothing more than to see my downfall. I cannot afford to make any mistakes. And Mazarin has quite a few friends in high places. I even think that my own mother might be among them."

"The Queen?"

He nodded. "I don't wish to speculate on the nature of their relationship, but I do know that she seems to have a bit of a blind spot where the cardinal is concerned. I was afraid that if I tried to accuse him of anything without solid proof, it would turn her against me. And if I lost her support…well, I really don't know what I'd do. Especially given what I now know about my parentage. If the truth ever came out, those who seek my downfall would have all the ammunition they need to remove me from power." Another sigh. "Anyway…I wish I'd had the courage to do something about Mazarin before now…that I'd at least found a way to keep him on a shorter leash rather than allow him to run freely about, building his cult. Perhaps if I had, your father and brother would still be alive and you'd have no need of a disguise."

Jacqueline stared at Louis for a moment, unsure if she'd heard him right. "Disguise, Sire? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

The King smiled, laying a gentle hand on the musketeer's arm. "It's alright, Jacqueline. I know everything. Have for awhile now, actually. Mazarin isn't the only one with spies all over France."

"I-I don't understand. You knew, but you allowed me to remain in the musketeers? Why?"

"If circumstances had been a bit different, I might very well have asked Duval to discharge you—quietly, of course. But if I had forced your identity out into the open, Mazarin would've seized the opportunity to have you killed and the musketeers disbanded, neither of which I wanted to see happen. Besides," he grinned. "Exactly how many male musketeers can say that they walked in off the street and earned their commission by out-fencing the son of the Legend? Man or woman, there's no denying that you're one of the best musketeers I've ever seen."

Jacqueline felt her cheeks begin to warm in embarrassment. "Really? I don't know what to say, Your Majesty."

Louis winked at her. "Well, I would hope you'd agree to stay."

"Why would I leave, Sire?"

"Now that Mazarin's power is diminished, I have every intention of granting both you and your brother full pardons. I know it won't do much good in his case, but at least Gerard Roget won't be remembered as a criminal. My question is, how should I handle yours? Captain Duval told me the story your comrades came up with—the one about how 'Jacqueline' died alongside Gerard, leaving her 'twin' Jacques as the only member of the family left alive. So does that story stand, or do you wish to return to your old life as Jacqueline? If you did, I'm sure I could find some loophole that would allow you to remain a musketeer, but it is up to you."

"Tempting as that sounds, Your Majesty," she said, giving him a small smile, "I feel that it would be best if Jacqueline Roget remained dead. Having a woman serving openly in the musketeers would only give your enemies ammunition against you, and I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed such a thing to happen."

Louis nodded. "Very well…if that is your wish. The pardons shall be issued posthumously, and Jacques LePonte shall remain a musketeer for however long you desire to do so."

"Thank you, Sire. You are most generous." She rose to leave, thinking that they were done, but Louis gestured for her to sit back down.

"That is not the only thing I wished to discuss with you, Jacqueline."

"Sire?"

"Captain Duval…he's not as young as he used to be, and his leg pains him more and more with each passing day. He's told me that he wishes to retire sometime in the next few years, once a suitable replacement has been found and properly trained."

"I understand, Your Majesty, but what has that to do with me?"

Louis stood up. "I'd like you to be that replacement, Jacqueline…I mean Jacques."

"Me?" she squeaked, once again sure that she was hearing things.

"Yes, you."

"But why? Surely there's someone else you could ask…someone with more experience. I haven't even been in the corps for a year yet."

"True, but you have qualities that no amount of experience could give you. You're smart, you're loyal, you have good instincts, your skill with a blade is all but unmatched, you're a natural leader, and, perhaps most importantly, you understand the importance of discretion."

"Discretion, Sire?"

"As captain, your job won't merely be to run the garrison. You'll also be a sort of unofficial advisor to me, as well as the head of my spy network—the real one, not the one whose names were on that list that almost went missing. My real spies aren't on any sort of official record. You won't have to go on any sort of secret missions or anything, but the agents will be reporting to you."

She nodded. "I think I understand, Sire. But what about the whole 'advisor' thing? Don't you have enough of those?"

"I do have plenty of advisors, it's true. But most of them are nobles, whose own personal interests often take precedent over what's best for France. That's where you come in. I know I can trust you to put the people first. Right?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"Good. Also, I'll be counting on you to help preserve my own 'disguise'…to do what needs to be done for the good of France while allowing me to maintain the appearance of a mindless dandy in front of the Royal Court. Can I trust you to do that?"

"You can, Sire. But…well…I'm just not sure I'm ready to take on that sort of responsibility. Not yet."

He chuckled. "Easy, LePonte. Captain Duval isn't going anywhere yet. He's promised to stay on and train you. You won't be captain until he feels you are ready."

"Captain Duval knows you're asking me?"

"Yes, and he agrees that you're the best person for the job."

Her eyes widened. "He does?"

"Is it really that surprising, considering the things you've done in your short time in the garrison?"

"I suppose not."

"So, does that mean you accept?"

"Yes, but I do have one request."

"Oh?"

"I understand what you said about discretion, but I would like your permission to share at least some of these things with my comrades, Siroc and Ramon. The three of us are a team, and I know I won't be able to do this job without Siroc's knowledge to guide me and Ramon's unshakable optimism and good nature to keep me going."

Louis smiled. "I knew I made the right choice. Most men would've been arrogant enough to believe that they didn't need help. You, on the other hand, are humble enough to recognize that you can't go it alone and know which men have the strengths you need to compliment your own."

"Is that a yes, Sire?"

He laughed. "Of course it is. Who am I to break up such an effective team? You'll still be the one with the rank of captain, but I have no problem with you making Siroc and Ramon your lieutenants when the time comes."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"You're welcome. That is all for now…Sergeant."

Jacqueline rose from the chair as he spoke, and nearly tripped when she heard that last part. "S-sergeant?"

"That's right. Can't have my future captain toiling away as a lowly private now, can I? Don't worry, Siroc and Ramon will be getting promotions as well. Just don't mention that to them…not yet. I'll be announcing it at the coronation, and I want it to be a surprise."

"Of course, Sire. Thank you."

"Again, you're welcome." Smiling, Jacqueline gave a slight bow before heading to the door. "Oh, and LePonte?"

"Yes?" she asked, turning to face the King.

"Watch your head." He winked, then picked up an apple from a nearby tray and started eating. Sitting down, he lounged across the throne as he ate. Jacqueline stared at him a moment, a little confused by that last comment, but finally just shrugged it off and headed out the door.

As she left the palace, Jacqueline once again felt the increasingly familiar sensation of another immortal. But, instead of following Siroc's orders, she drew the cutlass from her jacket and moved to investigate. Probably not the brightest move she'd ever made, but something told her that this wasn't the time to run.

Her search took her to the grounds outside the Queen's bedchamber, where she saw a figure dressed in black rappelling down the wall from Her Majesty's window. The figure froze as she approached, looking around as if unsure whether to go back up or continue down. Grinning mischievously, Jacqueline decided to solve the intruder's problem herself. She hurled the cutlass at the wall just over the figure's head, severing the rope and sending whoever it was to the ground.

Not wanting to waste another second, Jacqueline rushed over, snatching the cutlass from where it had fallen and moving to stand over the intruder, who was trying to rise. "Don't move," she commanded, bringing the tip of the blade just underneath the person's chin. "Who are you, and what were you doing in Her Majesty's room?"

"Wait…that was the Queen's room? I must've taken a wrong turn somewhere….Sorry about that. I'll just be on my way, now…." The intruder, who Jacqueline now knew to be a woman based on the voice, attempted once again to stand. Shaking her head, the female musketeer placed a foot on the woman's chest to halt her progress.

"Nice try. Amanda, I presume?"

At that, the woman reached up and removed the dark mask she'd been wearing, revealing her dark hair and deceptively young features. "I see my reputation precedes me. And you are…?"

"Sergeant Jacques LePonte of His Majesty's musketeers. And you're under arrest."

"What for?"

"Trespassing, for one. And I'm guessing that the contents of that bag don't exactly belong to you."

"You can't prove that."

"Oh really?" Keeping the blade trained on Amanda's throat, Jacqueline slowly moved over to the bag in question and picked it up. One glance inside told her all she needed to know. "Care to explain how the Queen's prized jewels wound up in here?"

Amanda froze a moment as she thought. "Leprechauns?"

Jacqueline rolled her eyes. "Right…you really expect me to believe that?"

The thief shrugged her shoulders. "Worth a shot."

"Not really. On your feet…now." She gestured with the blade, and Amanda quickly complied.

"You know…it doesn't have to be this way," Amanda drawled, moving uncomfortably close to Jacqueline. "I'm sure you and I could work something out. I do _love_ a man in uniform." She seductively ran her hand along the musketeer's chest, then slowly made her way southwards. Thinking quickly, Jacqueline used the flat of her blade to halt the hand's progress before Amanda could discover what 'Jacques' was lacking.

"Sorry…not interested."

Amanda pulled her hand back, looking almost insulted. "What kind of man are you?"

"You're never going to find out, that's for sure."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Jacqueline scowled. "What it means, Amanda—if that's even your real name—is that your tricks just aren't going to work this time. You're coming with me."

"Ooh," the immortal thief cooed, batting her eyes. "Is that a promise?"

The female musketeer brought her blade up to Amanda's throat, definitely not amused. "You should consider yourself fortunate that I'm in a good mood. I'd be well within my rights to just take your head right here and now. Stealing from the Royal family is treason—a capital crime, punishable by death. Now…are you going to cooperate, or do I save the executioner a trip?"

"You're bluffing," Amanda declared, crossing her arms and staring the musketeer down.

Jacqueline stared back, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Try me."

"Alright…if you insist." From out of nowhere, she suddenly produced an elegant one-handed broadsword. Unfortunately, Jacqueline didn't have time to wonder how she did it, as the blade was quickly thrust in her direction. She had to bring her own blade away from Amanda's throat in order to parry, taking away her advantage. And it soon became apparent that she'd severely underestimated the thief's abilities. She found herself on the defensive, and Siroc's previous warnings about facing someone with centuries of practice were proving true. Good as Jacqueline was, Amanda always seemed to be two steps ahead.

Not ready to give up just yet, the musketeer made one last-ditch effort to turn the fight around. She started to lunge, then dropped down as Amanda moved to parry and attempted to sweep her legs. But, as luck would have it, the move cost her. The thief leapt up to avoid the blow, launching a kick at Jacqueline's right shoulder as she came back down. Sure enough, the move sent her sprawling to the ground, the sword flying just out of reach. Next thing Jacqueline knew, Amanda was standing over her, the broadsword hovering just over her throat.

"It would seem the tables have turned. Such a pity, too. I thought the musketeers were supposed to be the best swordsmen in France."

"If you're going to kill me, please…just make it quick."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Please…. I'm not in the habit of killing children. Besides, taking your head would leave such an awful mess. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll take my leave." Grinning, she picked up her bag and started to walk away. Still determined to do her duty, Jacqueline climbed back to her feet, pulling her pistol and aiming it at the immortal.

"I don't think so. You may be immortal, but you're still a thief, and it's my sworn duty to take you in. So turn around, drop your sword and the bag, and I promise to make this as painless as possible."

"Alright, fair enough." Amanda quickly complied, and Jacqueline moved in to make the arrest. It seemed too easy, but she wasn't about to let this thief slip away. Unfortunately, that determination soon proved to be her undoing. Before Jacqueline realized that she'd been had, something heavy smashed into her temple, and she knew no more.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Siroc paced the floor of his laboratory, barely even noting the fact that Ramon had brought food in with him. Jacqueline had left for the palace several hours before and still had not returned. Needless to say, the immortal was worried.

Ramon watched his friend. "Keep pacing like that, amigo, and you're going to wear a hole in the floor."

The inventor glared, but stopped pacing and dropped into a nearby chair. "She should've been back by now, Ramon. What if something's happened?"

"Relax. I'm sure she's fine. For all we know, she and the King are still busy with whatever he called her to the palace to discuss."

"Either that, or Bernard's found her and her headless corpse is lying in a ditch somewhere." Siroc shot up out of the chair, grabbing his sword and jacket. "That's it…I'm going out to look for her."

"Fine," Ramon said, rising to his feet as well. "I'm coming with you."

"And do what? Lull the headhunter to sleep with your poetry?"

The Spaniard glared. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ramon…." Siroc trailed off, stiffening as something set off his senses. Near as he could tell, it was coming from the stables. He quickly moved to investigate, not even bothering to argue as Ramon followed.

By the time he got there, whoever it was seemed to be gone. And yet, he could still feel a presence. Looking around, he finally caught sight of Jacqueline's horse in its stall, still in its tack and with a blanket-covered something lying across the saddle. A piece of parchment was stuck to the front of the stall, which he quickly grabbed and opened.

_Will,_

_Saw you at that memorial earlier. Not very inconspicuous these days, are we? Whatever happened to blending in with the masses?_

_Anyway, I found something that I'm pretty sure belongs to you. Might want to keep a better watch from now on, before anything bad happens. It's under the blanket._

_-Amanda_

_P.S.—You'll find Her Majesty's jewels in the right-hand saddlebag. Tempting as it was to keep them, I get the feeling that being on the musketeers' bad side would be hazardous to my health._

"Who's Will?" Ramon asked, having read the note over Siroc's shoulder.

Siroc folded up the parchment and stuck in into his shirt. "I'm Will. It's an old alias…one I haven't used since the twelfth century."

He let out a low whistle. "So I take it this 'Amanda' is a really old friend of yours."

"Old, yes. Friend…that's debatable." Wondering what Amanda was up to, he went into the stall and yanked the blanket away to reveal Jacqueline. She'd been bound hand and foot, gagged with an old handkerchief, and stripped of all but her shirt and undergarments. And Siroc was willing to bet that any money she'd been carrying was gone as well.

She looked up at him, and he scowled. Any other time, Siroc might've found her predicament rather humorous. However, the fact that she'd obviously disobeyed him far outweighed the potential for amusement.

Ignoring her for the moment, he went to the saddlebag the note had indicated and, sure enough, it was filled with jewels. A quick search confirmed that most of the Queen's valuables were present and accounted for. There might be a few pieces missing, but nothing that couldn't be easily replaced. Satisfied, he handed the bag off to Ramon.

"Would you mind returning these to the palace?"

"Sí," he nodded.

"And do it quietly. No need to set off a manhunt. Even the Bastille couldn't hold Amanda for very long, anyway."

"Of course." As Ramon left, Siroc drew a dagger and went back inside the stall. This time, he caught sight of Jacqueline's things—including both of her swords—piled in the rear corner. Shaking his head, he cut her bonds and let her slide unceremoniously from the saddle.

Once she hit the floor, Jacqueline quickly pulled the gag from her own mouth. She would've said something, but Siroc's furious gaze was enough to keep her silent.

"Get dressed and get that horse taken care of. When you've recovered what's left of your dignity, meet me in the lab." Siroc sheathed his dagger, then turned on his heel and stalked away from the stables.

Cheeks burning in humiliation, Jacqueline pulled on her pants and boots, then proceeded to remove the mare's tack and brush her down. When she finished, she gathered the rest of her things and trudged back to the lab, stomach knotting itself in dread of what was to come.

She knocked on the door, opening it slowly when Siroc gave her permission to enter. He didn't acknowledge her right away, so she sat her belongings on one of the few empty worktables and sat down in a chair, turning her eyes to the floor.

"What happened?" he finally asked, not even looking at her. His voice betrayed no emotion as he spoke, and that scared Jacqueline even more than the angry glare he'd given her in the stables, as it gave her absolutely no idea how he was going to react. She stayed silent for a moment, and then, taking a deep breath, told him everything that took place after she left the palace. When Jacqueline finished, she looked up, her breath caught in her throat as she waited for his response.

After several minutes of tense silence, Siroc finally turned to look at her, angrier than she'd ever seen him before. "Let me get this straight," he ground out. "You felt another immortal as you walked out of the palace, and you decided to confront her? What in Hades were you thinking?"

"I-I don't know, Siroc. My gut said to check it out, and that's what I did."

"I see…and if your gut told you to jump in front of a cannon, would you do that as well?"

"If it meant saving someone's life, I would."

Siroc rolled his eyes. "Great…first student I have in centuries, and she has a bloody death wish."

"That's not fair," she snapped, jumping to her feet.

Siroc faced her nose to nose. "Isn't it? Jacqueline, what did I tell you before you left?"

She stepped back a bit. "To head to holy ground if I felt another immortal."

"Did you do that?" She shook her head, dropping her gaze once more. "Why not?"

"I already told you—"

"I don't care if Gabriel and his band of bloody angels descended from on high. From now on, when I tell you to do something, you do it."

"Who died and made you boss?"

"Technically, _you_ did. How many times to I have to tell you, Jacqueline? This isn't a game! Amanda could've killed you tonight!"

"But she didn't!"

"That's hardly the point. Do you have any idea how lucky you are to still be alive right now? What if it hadn't been Amanda you confronted tonight? What if it had been someone actually looking to take your head? Bernard, for instance. Had that been the case, you and I wouldn't even be speaking right now. You'd be dead, and I'd be cleaning your headless corpse off of the palace lawn. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not."

"Then you'd better start taking this seriously, Jacqueline. I won't teach someone who thinks that 'immortal' means invincible. Last time I tried that, he didn't even survive his first challenge. I don't want that to happen to you."

She looked at the floor. "It won't."

"Are you sure about that?"

"You said—"

"I know what I said, Jacqueline. But Bernard isn't one to play by the rules, either. Honor and nobility are nice ideals to aspire to, but they can also get you killed really fast. Tonight should be a pretty good example. Amanda may not be the best swordswoman I've ever seen, but she's good enough to have survived 800 years—which is about 790 years more practice than you've had, give or take. And yet, you allowed your sense of duty to blind you to that fact, and it nearly cost you your head. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She glanced up at him. "I-I think so."

"Good. Now get to bed. We'll talk more in the morning. Hopefully, by then all of this will have sunken in, and we can start with some real training." Nodding, Jacqueline gathered her things and slunk back to her quarters, tail tucked between her legs. Once she'd gone, Siroc allowed his carefully constructed walls to fall. He sank down against one of his larger inventions, crying. Jacqueline had really scared him tonight. The thought of losing her—it was unbearable. He'd sooner let Bernard take him again.

Of course, there was no way he could tell her any of that. Those sorts of feelings between a teacher and student were a disaster waiting to happen—a lesson he'd learned the hard way from his own teacher well over a millennium ago. No, it was better to try and maintain his distance for now…get her through her first century, at least, and then see if anything develops.

There was another knock at the door, and Siroc shot to his feet, quickly composing himself. "Come in." The door opened to reveal Captain Duval, who had a look of concern on his face.

Duval looked around. "Everything okay in here, Private? I thought I heard yelling."

"It's fine, Captain. Just a bit of personal business between myself and Jacques."

"Alright…if you say so." He turned to leave.

"Actually," Siroc called, getting Duval to turn back. "I do have a request."

"Oh?"

"If it's not too much trouble, Sir, Jacques and I are going to need about a month's leave."

Duval frowned. "Why a month?"

He shrugged. "Personal business. I know it seems like an awfully long time to be away from the garrison, but I assure you it's absolutely necessary."

Duval thought it over for a few moments, absently scratching his chin. "Absolutely necessary, you say?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well…I suppose I could manage without you two for a month. But not until after the coronation. His Majesty insists that all three of you be there."

Siroc nodded. "Fair enough. Wouldn't want to disobey an order from the King now, would I?"

"Then it's settled. After the coronation, you and Jacques can have a month's leave to do…whatever it is you two need to do."

"Thank you, Sir."

"No need to thank me, Private. Just make sure you two make it back in one piece."

"I plan to."

"Glad to hear it. Goodnight Private."

"Captain." With a slight nod, Captain Duval turned and exited the lab, leaving Siroc alone once more. Sleep was out of the question for him at this point, so he simply returned to work on Louis' Impenetrable to pass the time and give him something to think about other than Jacqueline's close call.

As Duval walked out of the lab, he caught sight of Ramon in the hallway. Absently scratching at his left wrist, the captain made his way over to his Spanish recruit. "My office," he whispered. "Now." He walked away, leaving the very confused Spaniard little choice but to follow.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Four days later, the musketeer trio, along with most of the garrison, accompanied His Majesty to Reims for the coronation. The Queen wasn't with them—news of the elder D'Artagnan's death had hit her hard, and she'd elected to remain at her estate in the country to grieve—but everyone else was there who needed to be. Even Mazarin, who was still expected to preside over the ceremony as per his obligation to the Church.

On reaching the Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Reims, Louis didn't waste a second. The ceremony went off without a hitch, although Mazarin looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else. No assassins made any attempts on the King's life, though Louis was wearing his custom-made Impenetrable just in case, and soon he was officially proclaimed Louis XIV, King of France and Navarre. His first official acts as such were to pardon the Rogets, promote his three favored musketeers to Sergeant, and name Jacques LePonte as Captain Duval's eventual successor. The cardinal looked as if he were about to burst a vessel when those pronouncements were made, but somehow managed to hold his peace.

Afterwards, most of the musketeers made their way to a local tavern to celebrate the occasion properly, without the Royal Court watching them. Jacques and Siroc were already packed to go on leave, but figured it wouldn't hurt to have a few drinks first. They joined Ramon at a table near the back, where he was already hard at work romancing the barmaids with his poetry.

Unexpectedly, their arrival was greeted with a loud cheer from their comrades. Drinks were in front of them before they even had a chance to ask, and a young lieutenant named le Beau leapt up on one of the tables, raising his glass. "Gentlemen, I'd like to propose a toast. To our glorious monarch, Louis XIV…."

"Here here," the musketeers responded, raising their own glasses and taking a drink.

"And…," le Beau continued, "to Sergeants Siroc and de la Cruz, and our future captain, Sergeant Jacques LePonte—the new Legends!" There was another loud cheer, and Jacqueline nearly choked on her drink. Chuckling, Siroc promptly pounded on her back a few times to get her breathing right again.

"Did…did he just say…."

"Might as well get used to it, Jacques. It was bound to happen sooner or later." Lifting his glass, Siroc gave the lieutenant a slight nod of thanks before turning back to his friends.

"Good thing D'Artagnan isn't here," Ramon laughed. "Poor guy would probably die of embarrassment."

"And I'd be joining him," Jacqueline muttered, doing her best to hide behind her glass. "Legend…Mon Dieu, I haven't even been a musketeer for a year, yet."

"It's not that surprising, really. People started calling Charles a legend even sooner than that. Believe me, it's easier to just go with the flow."

"I suppose," she sighed. "At least you and I have a month's leave...give me a chance to get used to the idea."

"True."

"So…when do we leave, amigos?"

Now it was Siroc's turn to almost choke. "We?"

Ramon nodded. "The capitan gave me a month off, starting tonight, and I thought I'd join you two. You don't mind, do you?"

"Fine by me," Jacqueline shrugged. "What do you think, Siroc?"

"Uh…yeah…sure….Jacques, can I talk to you for a moment…alone?" He got up, heading to a more secluded area of the tavern, and she quickly moved to follow.

"What's wrong?"

Glancing around to be sure no one else was in earshot, Siroc pulled Jacqueline the rest of the way into the corner he'd found. "We have a problem," he whispered.

"Problem? What kind of problem?"

"Don't you think it's odd that Captain Duval would suddenly be so willing to let three of his best musketeers go on leave for a whole month?"

She shrugged. "So he's in a generous mood. Why are you so paranoid all of a sudden?"

Siroc sighed. "There's something you need to know about the captain. I meant to tell you before, but with everything that's happened, it must've slipped my mind."

"I'm listening…."

"Captain Duval is what's known as a Watcher. For almost as long as immortals have been around, there's been this group of mortals following us…recording every little detail of our lives for posterity on the off-chance that this so-called Game actually has an end and we'll one day cease to exist. Technically, immortals aren't even supposed to know about them, but most of us older ones do since the early Watchers didn't have that pesky 'non-interference' rule. Anyway…Duval has been one since he was a young musketeer recruit, and I think he's trying to bring Ramon into their merry little band."

"So? I still don't see what the big deal is."

"I don't want your name coming up in the chronicles as an immortal…not yet."

"Why not?"

"As secure as those Watchers think their base is, there have been immortals in the past who've infiltrated the organization and used the chronicles to hunt. If your name is in there, you run the risk of becoming a target. And not just for headhunters. Rogue Watchers come up from time to time…use the chronicles to find new immortals so that they can 'cleanse the earth of their evil.' Point is, the longer the Watchers think you're mortal, the safer you'll be."

She nodded. "And how do you propose we keep Ramon from writing about me?"

"Well…we can't tell him not to come. If we do, he'll figure out that we're onto him, and that won't be good. The Watchers don't take very kindly to their field agents being compromised. So I suppose the only thing we can do is keep an eye on him. We'll find something to keep him busy when we head to Rouen, and before we return to the garrison I'll get hold of his journal and edit out anything that could compromise you."

Her eyebrow shot up. "You really think you can mess with his writing without him noticing?"

Siroc grinned. "It just so happens that I'm an expert at forgery."

At that, Jacqueline's other eyebrow joined the first. "Forgery? And you spent all that time ranting about Amanda being so dishonest."

He shrugged. "Live long enough, and you'll be surprised at the sorts of skills you'll pick up on. Trust me, we can pull this off easily. Ramon will never have to know."

"I don't know, Siroc. This doesn't feel right. I mean, Ramon is our friend. How can we lie to him like that?"

"I don't like it either, Jacqueline, but what choice do we have? If Ramon finds out that we know, he could end up dead. And if your name winds up in the chronicles as an immortal this soon, you might be the one who gets killed. This way, at least, no one has to die. Alright?"

"Okay, I suppose you have a point."

"Good. Now let's get back to the table before Ramon decides to send out a search party." She nodded, and the immortals reclaimed their seats just as their Spanish comrade was wrapping up an enthusiastic recitation of the new poem he'd penned the night before, detailing the cardinal's downfall. Naturally, the piece was met with cheers from their comrades, along with most of the tavern's other patrons.

However, as Ramon was taking his bow, a small group of rather unkempt-looking men shot out of their seats, drawing their blades. Former soldiers, put out of work when His Majesty disbanded Mazarin's personal guard. "Spanish filth!" the ringleader spat. "How dare you insult His Eminence in such a manner!"

"Filth?" Ramon shot back. "Have you looked in a mirror lately, muchachos?" The musketeers in the tavern all laughed, which only seemed to make Mazarin's small band of supporters even angrier.

"Cur! How about I come over there and make you eat those fancy words of yours?"

"You and what army?"

"There's five of us and only one of you, you dog!"

Ramon started forward, muttering some rather vile Spanish curses, but Siroc quickly grabbed him and pulled him back. "Perhaps you should learn to count before making threats, Monsieur. It just so happens that there are three of us at this table…not to mention the fact that most of the other tables are also filled with musketeers. Why don't you gentlemen put those swords away before one of you gets hurt?" With that, Siroc turned away, moving to once again reclaim his seat. Unfortunately, Mazarin's supporters weren't quite finished.

"What's wrong? Not man enough to fight us…_Ganymede_?"

On hearing that name, Siroc stiffened, paused between sitting and standing. Slowly, the immortal drew himself back to full height, forcing back the horrible flashbacks that threatened to come forth. "What did you call me?"

The former guardsman laughed, arrogantly striding towards the musketeer. "You heard me, boy. Tell me, do you provide those services for anyone, or is Captain Bernard special?"

Practically growling, Siroc grabbed the man by the shirt collar, bringing the two of them nose to nose. "Bernard…did he send you here? Did he tell you those things about me?"

"Maybe. What are you going to do about it, boy?"

"What am I going to do? I'm going to leave him a little message." Siroc released his grip on the man's collar, and then, before anyone could stop him, drew a dagger from a hidden sheath behind his back and drove it straight into his heart. The ex-guardsman slumped to the ground, dead, and the immortal turned his glare on the man's comrades. "Tell your master that if he sends anyone else after us, I'll do the same to them." At that, Bernard's remaining henchmen paled and scurried away, leaving the corpse behind.

There were several moments of awkward silence before someone—Lieutenant le Beau—finally spoke. "Go on, Sergeant. We'll take care of this." Not needing to be told twice, Siroc gave him a grateful nod before leaving the tavern himself, with Jacqueline and Ramon trailing after him. He found his way to the stables where they'd left their horses and collapsed in a dark corner near the back, his body trembling as the adrenaline rush faded and the memories he'd tried to suppress forced their way to the front of his mind.

"Siroc?" He heard the voice and felt the hand on his arm, but it took a few moments for the identity of the speaker to register. It was Jacqueline. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head. "You heard what he called me."

"I did, but I don't understand….Who or what is Ganymede?"

"Ganymede," Ramon spoke up, coming in behind her. "Trojan prince…the most beautiful of all mortals. Zeus, the king of the gods, was so taken with him that he transformed himself into an eagle and spirited the boy away to Olympus to be his cupbearer…his beloved. He made Ganymede immortal and eventually found a place for him in the heavens as the constellation Aquarius." The immortals looked at Ramon in awe, and he shrugged. "Señor Velasquez—my tutor—believed that a true gentleman must be well-versed in the classics. I've had Greek and Roman literature drilled into my head from the time I was a boy up until I left for Paris."

Siroc nodded. "Well, you got the story right, more or less. It was actually one of my favorites when I was a child…back when I was still free."

"So what changed?" Jacqueline asked softly.

"Beltranus. It was the only name he ever called me by, and only when he took me to his bed. The rest of the time I was just 'boy' or 'slave.' He fancied himself a god, and wanted me to be the 'Ganymede' to his Zeus. Only it was nothing like the story. I wasn't his 'beloved' anything. He took what he wanted when he wanted it, and would do so violently if I tried to resist." Siroc took a deep, shaky breath, trying to keep from breaking down. "I was only eight the first time he did it…too young to fully understand what he was after. But I learned fast…didn't have a choice, really. None of it was my choice. He used me in the worst possible way up until I was fifteen and starting to grow into manhood, at which point he sold me to the arena. But for those eight years, I was 'Ganymede' whenever he summoned me to take his pleasure. Just like with everything else he's ever touched, Beltranus took something I liked…something I thought was beautiful…and twisted it into something perverse and degrading. 'Ganymede' wasn't a term of endearment…it was his way of reminding me who had the power…that my body was his to command and I had no control. I was nothing but his whore. To this day, I can't hear that name without remembering what he did to me. I even wound up walking out of the theatre the first time I saw _As You Like It_ because of the flashbacks." He sighed. "Bernard must've told that jerk about it, or at least enough for him to know that it would get to me. He's sending me a message…trying to remind me that he still has power over me…or so he thinks." Siroc took another deep breath as he finally managed to collect himself and climb back to his feet. He hadn't intended to reveal so much, but once he'd started, it all came tumbling out. And, oddly enough, it felt good…freeing even. Like a great weight being lifted off of his chest. Not enough to completely erase the pain that the memories brought, but at least it seemed a little more bearable.

Jacqueline and Ramon nodded, still trying to take in all that he'd told them. She'd had some idea of what he'd gone through, but to hear him actually talk about it…. Ramon, for his part, looked absolutely stunned. Obviously, this was all new to him, and he was still trying to wrap his head around the concept.

Finally, Jacqueline broke the silence. "What do you want us to do, Siroc?"

"Bernard will get what's coming to him soon enough. But for now, I think we should head to someplace where he can't touch us."

"Holy ground? We're going to spend our leave in a church?"

"Not exactly."

"The abbey," Ramon chimed in, finally having regained use of his voice.

Siroc nodded. "That's right."

"What abbey?" Jacqueline asked, confused.

"Remember that immortal I told you about? Rebecca Horne?"

"Amanda's teacher?"

"Exactly. She owns an abbey in Normandy—the Abbey of Saint Anne—and I'm sure she wouldn't mind us dropping in for awhile."

"Normandy?" Jacqueline exclaimed. "It will take us at least a week to get there!"

"Actually, it won't. The abbey is just outside of Le Havre. If we ride all day and rest at night, it should take us about four days at most." With that, he went to his own mount and prepared to leave. "Are you packed and ready to go, Ramon?"

"Si. I packed as soon as the capitan told me I had leave."

"Good. Shall we get out of here, then?" Not waiting for a response, he mounted his horse and rode off. Jacqueline and Ramon quickly did the same, urging their mounts into a gallop in order to catch up.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Several hours later, the trio made camp in a field about halfway between Reims and Paris. Ramon quickly took off to gather firewood, leaving the immortals alone. Siroc started digging a pit for the fire, and Jacqueline knelt down next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"What would you like to know?" he asked, glancing up at her.

"I didn't even ask a question."

"But you were going to, weren't you?"

She sighed. "Not if you don't want me to. I mean, if you're not comfortable…."

"It's fine," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Ask away."

Jacqueline nodded. "I'm just trying to understand why, really. Why would anyone treat another human being like that…especially one so young?"

Siroc shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not sure I fully understand it myself."

"Bernard…is he…?"

"Someone who prefers the company of other men?"

"Not the way I was going to put it, but…."

He shook his head. "Most assuredly not. Beltranus had a wife, stepson…even a few female slaves he kept as mistresses."

"Then why—?"

"Why me?" He sighed. "I don't pretend to understand what goes on in that man's mind. But, far as I can tell, what he did to me and the other young boys he kept as slaves was primarily about power. He had it, we didn't, and sex was the tool he used to keep us in our place. If I were a woman, such a thing would undoubtedly be called 'rape'—which is exactly what it was. But no one really thinks in those terms when it's two men involved. Most people couldn't even conceive of such a thing…even back then, when it was common for men to take young boys as lovers. Of course, most of those boys had a choice."

"And no one did anything to stop it?"

"Why would they? After all, we were just slaves. His wife didn't care what he did during his campaigns so long as he devoted his attentions to her when he was home. His men were afraid to cross him, and to the people of Rome, he was a bloody war hero. He could do no wrong in their eyes. Who would possibly have believed the word of a lowly slave boy over that of the great Beltranus?"

"How did you end up with him, anyway?"

Siroc took a deep breath as he briefly called up the memory of what had happened all those centuries ago. "I was born in a little village in Gaul—not that far from where we are now, actually. Father was the village blacksmith, which probably has something to do with why I eventually ended up as an inventor. Not much of a leap from the forge to the laboratory, really. Anyway…when I was about four or five, the local Roman governor decided that our village wasn't paying its taxes fast enough and sent the army after us. And it just so happened that Beltranus was at the head of that army. They razed the village, put the men and elders to the sword, and rounded up the women and children to be sold as slaves. The last memory I have of my home is watching the house burn as my father was killed and my mother and sister were taken away. I wasn't sold with the rest because, for whatever reason, Beltranus wanted me for himself. Spoils of war, I suppose."

"Did he know that you'd be immortal someday?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it. If he did, I probably would never have made it to fifteen. I'm sure he would've killed me when I was nine or ten, just to keep me his little 'Ganymede' forever. Eight years of that was bad enough…I don't think I'd have had the strength to deal with it for eternity." Siroc shuddered at the memories, and Jacqueline wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Oh Siroc…I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It's ancient history."

"But it's not, is it? That night in the Bastille…he did it to you again, didn't he?"

Meekly, the elder immortal nodded. "I tried to fight, but he said that if I didn't cooperate, he'd take you instead. And I couldn't let that happen."

"Y-you relived your worst nightmare…for me?"

"You're not the only one who can be noble and self-sacrificing. I would do anything to protect you, Jacqueline."

"Siroc…." Their lips moved closer, seemingly of their own accord, and were about to meet when—

"Mi amigos! We have firewood!" Leaping apart, Siroc hastily moved to finish the fire pit while Jacqueline stood and took some of the wood from Ramon's arms. The Spaniard glanced between them, getting a vague sense that he'd interrupted something. "Did I miss something?"

Siroc stood up, brushing the dirt from his pants. "Ramon, why don't you get the fire started while I go see if I can find something to eat." With that, he ran off into the woods. Ramon turned to Jacqueline.

"I'm going to go see if I can find some water." She took off as well, leaving the Spanish musketeer alone, his question unanswered.

When they finally returned, Ramon noticed that the two made a conscious effort to avoid any sort of contact with each other. Dinner was eaten in a sort of awkward silence—an awkwardness that continued through the next several days. Ramon let it go for as long as he could, save for a few attempts at small talk that were either met with silence or one-word answers. After a few days of this, the virtual silence proved more than the poet could take. He had to say something…anything. "Mi amigo!" he called out, pulling his mount up alongside Siroc's. "Tell me…where did you get that sword? It's rather unique, no?" Curious as Ramon was about what he'd walked in on a few nights before, he decided that it was a topic he'd do better to avoid…for the moment, anyway.

Siroc looked questioningly at the Spaniard. "Why are you so curious about my sword all of a sudden, Ramon?"

He shrugged. "It's not every day you see a blade like that. I'd just like to know more about it, that's all."

"That's it?"

"Si. Just simple curiosity. No ulterior motive, I promise."

"Well…alright, then." Siroc was sure that the 'curiosity' had something to do with the Watchers, but decided that there wouldn't be much harm in telling him what he wanted to know. '_Besides_,' he thought, '_I could always edit anything out of the journal that I don't want those busybodies to know when I go to remove the references to Jacqueline's immortality._' He sighed. "Remember when I said that Bernard sold me to the arena when he no longer had any use for me?" Ramon nodded. Absently, Siroc noted that Jacqueline seemed to be listening rather intently as well. "That's where the sword came from…the arena. It's the one I used when I had to fight."

"So you were a gladiator, then?" the Spaniard asked.

"Well, at first I was just a scared kid who'd never held a sword in his life except to clean it. Then I met Alexander."

As he spoke, Jacqueline pulled her own mount up beside his and Ramon's. "Who's Alexander?"

"An immortal. He was already over a thousand years old when I met him, and quite a formidable fighter. I have no idea how he ended up as a gladiator. Actually, I don't really know much of anything about his past, except that he was Spartan and that he too had grown up a slave. At any rate, he was one of the emperor's favorites, which gave him a little bit more freedom than the rest of us had. He was there when I was first brought in, and took me under his wing…showed me how to survive in that world. And a few years later, when I became an immortal myself, he taught me about the Game."

"So this Alexander was your teacher?" Ramon asked. "How did you die, anyway…if you don't mind my asking?"

"I was eighteen, give or take. The guy running the games at the time thought it would be a fun idea to pit me against a full-grown lioness. I managed to kill the beast, but not before she got in a lucky swipe at my unprotected stomach. Alex…he broke the rules…got me out of there before the crowd could witness my death and took me to the infirmary. I died in there, only to revive sometime later and find out that my whole life was about to change."

"So…where is Alex now?"

Siroc glanced over at Jacqueline and shook his head. "No idea. I haven't spoken to him in well over a millennium."

"Why not? I mean, it sounds as if you two were close."

"We were close, once…very close. But as soon as the emperor granted him his freedom, he took off…never even said 'goodbye.' The next time I saw him, he was watching the games from the emperor's own box with some senator's daughter on his arm. Didn't even acknowledge me. A few years later, some games were held in honor of Beltranus' latest conquest. He did acknowledge me, and that was the last night I spent in that place. As soon as I'd defeated my opponent for the day, I ran, taking my sword with me. I went to where I'd heard Alexander was staying, asking for refuge, only to be turned away. Alex—my teacher…the first person who'd ever treated me like a human being since I lost my family—he'd abandoned me. So I headed north…back to Gaul. And that's how I met Rebecca. She took me into her abbey…protected me when Beltranus tracked me down. I owe her my life, not to mention a good bit of my sanity. And speaking of which…." He pointed forward, and his companions saw that, during the course of the conversation, they'd come upon a large stone fortress. The Abbey of Saint Anne.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

As Jacqueline stared at the magnificent structure in awe, she suddenly remembered something that had been said when she was down in the sanctum. "It was here, wasn't it? This is where I was born."

Siroc turned to her, his expression one of mild surprise. "Yes, it was. How did you know? There's no way you could possibly have remembered something like that."

"I overheard Bernard and D'Artagnan's father talking about my being found in an abbey as an infant by someone named Rebecca. And if that Rebecca is the same one we're going to visit now...."

The elder immortal chuckled. "Well, normally I'd tell you not to listen to anything that man had to say. But in this case, he was telling the truth."

"And how would you know that, amigo?"

"You were there, weren't you," Jacqueline said quietly, before Siroc could answer.

He nodded. "Yes, I was. My comrades and I were visiting the abbey about a week after Rebecca found you. She gave you to me, and I brought you to this nice childless couple I knew back in Paris."

"The Rogets."

"Exactly. Claude had briefly served as a musketeer, resigning after he married in order to be able to devote time to the family he'd hoped to have. He and Matilde were good, decent people, and I knew that they'd raise you to be the same. Plus, I knew that Claude would at least teach you something of how to defend yourself, so you wouldn't be completely helpless should your immortality kick in and neither Rebecca nor I could get to you right away. It would seem that my hunch worked out better than I could've imagined," he said with a grin. "Who would've thought that tiny little baby I held in my arms twenty years ago would one day manage to talk her way into the musketeers?"

"Did they know?"

Siroc shook his head. "I told your father to send for me should anything ever happen to you, but didn't really explain why. Honestly, I thought it would be better if they didn't know...that way, you could have a normal life. I feared that if they knew the truth, they might treat you differently, or that they might not want you at all. I liked them, don't get me wrong, but I also know that even the best people tend to fear things that they don't understand."

"I see....Well," she said, cracking a smile. "I suppose I ought to thank you. It's kind of nice, actually...knowing that someone's been looking out for me all these years."

"Always." He returned the smile, and the pair locked eyes for a moment before inexplicably turning away. Siroc cleared his throat. "Anyway...shall we go in and see if the Lady Rebecca would mind a few musketeers invading her abbey for a month?" Before anyone could respond, he urged his horse forward in the direction of the stables. Jacqueline quickly followed suit, and Ramon watched for a moment before doing the same. After that last little exchange, it was pretty clear to him what was going on between his two comrades. '_Now all I have to do is get them to see it. Wonder if the Lady would be willing to help me play matchmaker...._'

Once their mounts were taken care of, the trio made their way over to the abbey's main entrance. Nervously straightening his clothes and smoothing his hair, Siroc stepped forward and knocked on the massive oak door. He knew Rebecca was inside, and possibly Amanda as well, as he could feel at least one strong presence within the fortress' walls. A moment later, the door opened to reveal a young mortal servant. "May I help you, Monsieur?"

"My comrades and I are here to see the Lady Rebecca Horne."

"And you are...?"

"An old friend."

"Prove it." The smug little man glared at the immortal, daring him to try something. Siroc was just about to draw his rapier and teach the pup a lesson when a familiar form appeared behind the servant.

"It's alright, Pierre." Bowing, Pierre quickly opened the door the rest of the way, allowing the musketeers entrance. When they were all inside, he gave another bow before turning and stalking away, grumbling under his breath. Jacqueline and Ramon then watched in amazement as their usually reserved comrade suddenly rushed forward, throwing his arms around Rebecca in a heartfelt embrace, which was returned just as enthusiastically.

"Gods...I can't believe it's been twenty years."

Rebecca laughed. "And whose fault is that?" she teased. "You knew where to find me."

"I know. I've been a bad friend. Forgive me?" he asked, giving her his best 'sad puppy' expression.

She pretended to glare, but couldn't hold that expression for very long. Shaking her head, she chuckled. "You know I could never stay mad at you. Now...are you planning to introduce me to your new friends, or were you just going to let them stand there?"

Siroc blushed, but quickly recovered his composure. "Guys, I'd like you to meet Lady Rebecca Horne. Rebecca, allow me to introduce Sergeant Ramon-"

"Ramon Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz," the Spaniard interrupted, dropping down to one knee. He took hold of her hand and placed a chivalrous kiss upon it. "Señora encantadora, mi amor, ángel de mi corazón (Lovely lady, my love, angel of my heart). I am but your humble servant."

Rebecca smiled, glancing over at Siroc. "Your friend is almost as smooth as Porthos. Only he wasn't nearly this charming."

"You flatter me, dear Lady. I know I must pale in comparison to the legendary Porthos, but might I favor you with a poem?"

"Maybe later, Ramon," Siroc said, pulling his love-struck comrade back to his feet. "Anyway...where was I? Oh yes...now that you've met Ramon, may I also introduce my new student, Sergeant Jacques LePonte."

Jacqueline looked at him with raised eyebrows, having expected him to introduce her to his immortal friend by her true name. When he didn't react, she quickly composed herself and bowed. "My Lady," she said, making sure to use her 'Jacques' voice. Rebecca glanced over at Siroc, eyebrows slightly raised. He shrugged, and she turned back to 'Jacques' and smiled.

"No need to be so formal...either of you. 'Rebecca' would be just fine."

Jacqueline nodded, and was about to say something else when Amanda walked in. The black shirt and trousers from the palace incident were nowhere in sight. Rather, the immortal thief was wearing a dark blue peasant dress, which stood out in sharp contrast to Rebecca's white silk gown. Her long black hair fell loosely over her shoulders, making her look more like an innocent farm girl than the master thief Jacqueline knew her to be.

Pointedly ignoring Siroc, Amanda stalked over to where Jacqueline stood; an almost predatory gleam in her eye. Instinctively, the female musketeer backed up, only to find herself in a corner as the immortal thief once again moved uncomfortably close. "Well, well, well...miss me already?" The thief traced a finger over 'Jacques'' goatee, which the musketeer quickly batted away.

"You knocked me out, tied me up, robbed me, and stripped me down to my under things. I've never been so humiliated in my life."

Amanda chuckled. "What's the matter, handsome? Haven't you ever heard of foreplay?" She came even closer, and Jacqueline glanced past her to Siroc, silently pleading for help. Unfortunately, neither he nor Rebecca seemed inclined to do anything about it.

"T-trust me, Mademoiselle," Jacqueline stammered. "I'm _really_ not your type."

"Don't be so sure, darling," she drawled, running her hands down Jacqueline's back. "I'll try anything once." Amanda pinched her rear, causing the musketeer to gasp in shock. Then, with a wink, she turned and sauntered off, leaving Jacqueline gaping at the woman's audacity as she struggled to form a coherent sentence.

Ramon was staring after Amanda as well, albeit for a different reason. "Dios mio...what a woman!" He took off in the direction the thief had taken, leaving the immortals alone.

The Spanish musketeer caught up with Amanda in the abbey's kitchen, where she was already in the process of filching some fruit. She turned as soon as she heard him enter, the bright red apple in her hand making her the very picture of Temptation. And, much like Adam of old, Ramon found himself unable to resist.

He stepped forward, clearing his throat. "They say you are a thief, Señorita."

"Really?" She lifted the apple to her lips, taking a bite and chewing it slowly and deliberately, as if savoring the flavor. And even that simple act was sensuous when performed by a dark beauty such as her. With an enticing look, Amanda extended the fruit towards the musketeer. "Do you believe everything other people say, Señor?"

"No...not everything," he said, leaning in and taking a bite of the apple for himself. Once he'd finished chewing, Ramon plucked the fruit from her hand and tossed it aside. "But this must be true."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Smiling, he took her hand and kissed it. "Because, dear lady...you have stolen my heart."

She laughed, reaching forward and running her fingers through his hair. "You have quite the smooth tongue, Señor...."

"Ramon Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz," he supplied with a bow. "At your service."

"At my service, you say?"

"Absolutely."

"Tell me, Ramon...is that smooth tongue of yours good for anything besides talking?"

"Perhaps...once I've gotten to know you a bit better, of course."

"I think that could be arranged." Amanda pulled the entranced musketeer in for a sensuous kiss, which he eagerly returned. A moment later, she broke it off and headed for the stairs, beckoning to him just before disappearing up them. And, like a moth to the flame, he followed close behind.

Meanwhile, in the main hall, Jacqueline finally managed to recover her speech. She sank down against the wall, burying her face in her hands to hide her burning cheeks. Siroc's laughter rang in her ears, and she lifted her head to glare at him.

"It's not funny."

"Oh...yes, it is."

"Some help you are."

He grinned. "Face it, Jacques. You're an attractive fellow. Sooner or later, you'll have to get used to women throwing themselves at you." He winked, and Jacqueline groaned, once more hiding behind her hands.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Let's see...I have an excellent memory, and I plan to be here for a very long time. So...ask me again in a couple of centuries."

"Traitor," she growled, which only seemed to amuse him more. Luckily, Rebecca chose that moment to step in.

"Come now, Sirius. I think the child's had enough for one day."

Siroc sighed. "Fine...." Smiling, he reached out and helped Jacqueline back to her feet. The look on her face said that it wasn't over just yet, but before she could say anything the trio heard some rather unusual sounds emanating from one of the rooms upstairs. It took a moment for the female musketeer to realize exactly what she was hearing, and the recognition of its origins made her face grow even redder. Siroc, for his part, just arched an eyebrow in amusement. '_Well_,' he thought, '_That's one way to keep Ramon busy_.'

"Well," Rebecca said, clearing her throat. "Perhaps it's time the two of you got some training in. You remember where the courtyard is, don't you Sirius? The one on the opposite side of the fortress?"

"Of course," he replied, giving her a grateful nod for the save. "Come on, Jacques. Let's go spar for awhile." She nodded, also thankful for Rebecca's quick thinking, and followed Siroc out to the courtyard for their first real training session since discovering her immortality.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"Damn it, Jacques!" Siroc growled, watching as the cutlass flew from her hand yet again. "You've got to pay attention!" She hung her head, muttering what sounded like an apology. The elder immortal softened, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just...you've been pretty distracted for the past couple of days...almost since we arrived. What's wrong?"

Jacqueline shook her head, glancing towards the other end of the courtyard, where Ramon and Amanda appeared to be having a picnic. Between the lingering kisses, he read to her from one of his poetry notebooks while she fed him grapes. "This isn't right," Jacqueline muttered. "She's going to break his heart, you know. How can you just stand there and allow it to happen?"

"What do you mean?"

She crossed her arms, glaring. "You...using Amanda to distract him because of the whole 'watcher' thing. I still don't understand why we can't just tell him that we know."

Siroc sighed. "I told you, Jacqueline. It's too dangerous."

"Why? Don't you trust him? I thought he was your friend."

"Of course I trust Ramon. It's the other Watchers I don't trust."

"What do they have to do with him?"

"Everything." Shaking his head, Siroc returned his gladius to its hiding place. He retrieved Jacqueline's cutlass and handed it back to her, then gently steered her back inside the abbey so they could have a bit more privacy. Glancing around to make sure they were alone, he led her into one of the unused cells on the first floor and shut the door behind them. He took a seat on the bed and motioned for her to join him, which she did.

"Bit paranoid, aren't we?"

"When it comes to the Watchers, I have to be."

"Why? I still don't get it."

Another sigh. "Look...I would love to take Ramon aside and tell him that we know the truth. I really would. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. I mean, I know Ramon wouldn't give us away...at least, not on purpose. But all it would take would be one innocent slip of the tongue in front of the wrong person and we'd be done for."

"Ramon wouldn't slip...he's not that stupid."

"I know he's not. But that's hardly a guarantee that he won't make a mistake. I mean, what about Duval?"

"What about him?"

"Ramon trusts the captain implicitly...has no reason not to. And now that he knows Duval is aware of who and what we are-or at least what I am-how can we be sure that he won't slip up one of these days...mention something about what we know in front of the captain, thinking that he would never betray us."

Jacqueline stared at Siroc, unable to believe what she was hearing. "But Captain Duval wouldn't do that...would he?"

"He's a Watcher, Jacqueline. If there's one thing I know about Duval, it's that he takes his duties-to the King and to the bloody Society of Watchers-very seriously. Should Ramon ever slip and reveal that we know, Duval would be forced to report it to his superiors. They might be lenient with him for doing so, but Ramon wouldn't get off so easy...and neither would we. The Watchers know full-well how to kill us, and if they see us as a threat to their organization, I have no doubt that they would send out their assassins. We wouldn't stand a chance. Mortals don't set off our senses, so they could get right up behind us and take our heads before we even realized what was happening. And Ramon...I shudder to think of what they would do to him. Not sure if anything has changed in the past few centuries, but from what I remember, they make the bloody Inquisition look like pacifists."

Jacqueline gulped, a hand automatically going to her throat. "W-what do you mean? It's happened before?"

Siroc got up from the bed and went over to the cell's small window. He seemed to be staring out at the sky, but Jacqueline could tell that he was being pulled back into his memories. After a moment, he sighed. "Her name was Jocelyn...Jocelyn St. Claire. One of the most beautiful, intelligent, and courageous women I've ever had the privilege to know. I met her back in the fifth century, when I was living as a blacksmith in a village near Marseilles. One of those 'star-crossed' romances you read about. She was a Watcher, I'm an immortal...we shouldn't have even been talking, let alone courting. But she never took much stock in that whole 'non-interference' rule that most Watchers so whole-heartedly embrace. And, still being relatively young myself, I was more than willing to take that risk if it meant being with her. Of course, it was easier to get away with that sort of thing back then. The world was bigger, so to speak. Watchers could go months or even years without contact from their superiors. Even so, Jocelyn and I were still extremely careful about keeping our relationship-our marriage-a secret from them. We may have been rather idealistic, but we weren't fools. We knew what the consequences were if our relationship was ever discovered."

"So what happened?"

"Jocelyn and I were together for ten long, wonderful years. One of the truly happiest periods in my whole immortal life. But somehow, the Watchers...they found us out. To this day, I still have no idea who or what could have possibly tipped them off. I didn't even know that they'd figured it out until their agents struck...."

********

Southern Gaul, c. 491 AD

For Siroc, currently known to the rest of the world as Mathieu Forgeron, the day had started out normally enough. He'd woken up with the sun, completed the morning chores around the farm, then roused Jocelyn and made love to her before fixing their breakfast, after which he headed into town to work at his forge. Had he known what the day would bring, he would've left the shop closed and stayed home with her. But Siroc, for all his skills, was no prophet, and so he went. Most of the day passed in the usual manner: shoeing horses, mending tools, wagons, and the occasional weapon...nothing out of the ordinary for a small town blacksmith. It was only as he prepared to close up for the day that everything went wrong.

He was just putting away the last of his tools when cries of 'fire' sounded from the streets. With a bad feeling settling itself in the pit of his stomach, the young immortal, after making sure his trusty gladius was handy, ventured outside the shop. Immediately, one of his fellow townspeople-an aging carpenter named Philip-rushed over to him in a panic.

"What's going on?" Siroc asked, dreading the answer.

"Your farm, Mathieu...it's on fire!"

Swearing, Siroc leapt onto the back of his horse and sped off, leaving a worried and confused Philip in his dust. As he rode, he prayed to whatever gods might still be listening that he'd get there in time.

On reaching the farm, he saw that most of the smoke was actually coming from torches, held by black-clad masked men surrounding the house. And men in masks were never a good thing, in his experience. Several of them drew swords as they saw him approach, and he responded by launching his throwing knives into the chests of the closest ones, killing them instantly. He then leapt from the back of his horse and pulled his gladius, going after the ones that were left. The mortals put up a good fight, but were no match for his nearly four and a half centuries of experience.

When the last one fell, Siroc caught a glimpse of a familiar symbol tattooed on the man's wrist. "Watchers...oh no....Jocelyn!" Not wasting another second, he rushed into the house, kicking the already broken door aside and moving into the main room. There, he was greeted by the sight of more masked men, gathered around someone or something on the floor. He saw a flash of dark hair from within their little circle, and something inside him snapped. "Leave her alone, you bastards!" he yelled, rushing the men with his blade before they realized what was going on. The lackeys fell as easily as the ones outside, and Siroc soon had their ringleader backed into a corner, his blade at the man's throat. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," he growled.

The man laughed harshly. "You brought this on yourself, boy. Your kind aren't supposed to mix with ours. The little bitch got what she-" Before he could finish, the Watcher found Siroc's gladius sticking out of his chest.

"So did you." Siroc watched as the man's eyes glazed over in death, then yanked the blade free and let the body drop to the floor. The last of the intruders gone, he rushed over to where Jocelyn lay, and nearly gagged at the sight. She was still alive, but the Watchers had left her horribly mutilated. Among other things, he could see that her eyes had been gouged out, and her writing hand cut off. From the blood dripping out of her mouth, he surmised that they'd cut her tongue out as well. The message was clear: don't give away the Watcher's secrets.

Forcing back tears, Siroc knelt down next to Jocelyn, cradling her in his arms. "Gods...I'm so sorry," he murmured, stroking her blood-matted hair. "I-I'll get you to a healer...it'll be okay...it has to be okay...." Even as he spoke, he knew the words were a lie. She'd already lost a lot of blood...frankly, she'd be lucky to make it through the night. He felt her shift in his grip, and watched as she laid her remaining hand on the hilt of his gladius, looking at him pleadingly with non-existent eyes....

********

Present

"Mon Dieu," Jacqueline gasped, her mind still reeling from the horrors her friend and mentor had experienced. "What did you do?"

He sighed. "The only thing I could do...at the time, all I knew of the human body came from my experience in the arena, where I was taught how to take lives, not save them. She wouldn't have lasted long enough for me to fetch a healer, and I couldn't bear to watch her suffer. And she couldn't bear it either...that's what she was telling me when she grabbed my sword. So I ended her suffering, as swiftly and painlessly as I could...the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. Afterwards, I used the torches the Watchers brought and set the house ablaze for real...turned it into a makeshift funeral pyre. I watched it burn, then disappeared for several decades, going someplace where even the bloody Watchers couldn't find me. By the time I re-emerged, the incident with Jocelyn was all but forgotten...by them, anyway." He took another deep breath, turning to look his student in the eyes. "After what happened to her, I swore I'd never allow myself to get close to another of their fanatical little group. Even my relationship with Captain Duval is purely professional...it wasn't like that when I was Aramis and he was a musketeer-in-training, but that was before he joined with _them_. That happened around the time Aramis 'disappeared.' When I returned as Siroc, I made sure to keep my distance. And now, the same thing is happening with Ramon. I don't want to lose his friendship, as he's probably the closest I've ever had to a brother, but I don't want to see him end up like Jocelyn either. So, if lying to him and allowing Amanda to sway him with her ample charms will keep him safe, I'll do so gladly. She may break his heart, as you predict, but it's preferable to the alternative: a broken heart will heal, in time. Missing body parts won't. Understand?"

Jacqueline nodded, not quite sure what else to say. Though she still wasn't completely comfortable with the idea, she could see Siroc's point. If the Watchers were that fanatical about their rules, maybe it would be better to keep Ramon in the dark.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

After several minutes of awkward silence, Siroc called an end to training for the day and wandered off to some other part of the fortress. Alone, Jacqueline made her way upstairs to the bedroom she'd been using. She tossed her jacket onto the bed and went over to the window, resting her forearms on the windowsill as her gaze drifted across the courtyard below. Amanda and Ramon now appeared to be engaged in a rather flirtatious sparring session, the immortal half of the duo clearly holding back so as not to overwhelm her new mortal lover. Jacqueline sighed, though she continued to watch the pair while trying to sort her increasingly jumbled thoughts into some kind of coherent order. Good Watchers...bad Watchers...headhunters...the Game....The more she learned about immortality, the less appealing it became. Not that she had any choice in the matter. "Mon Dieu," she wondered aloud, "how did I get here?"

"By horse?" a voice gently teased. Jumping about a foot in the air, Jacqueline whirled around to see Rebecca standing in the doorway. She'd been so lost in thought that the elder immortal's presence never even registered.

"T-that wasn't what I meant," she stammered, then frowned. "How long have you been standing there?"

Rebecca smiled. "Long enough. And I know what you meant. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit." She crossed the room, joining the younger immortal at the window. "He told you about Jocelyn, didn't he?" the ancient asked, her expression growing serious.

Jacqueline nodded. "About her, the Watchers...."

"And you're afraid that you're going to lose Ramon to them...or at least his friendship."

"Lying isn't exactly the best way to keep someone's trust."

"Obviously."

The female musketeer sighed. "I've already had my relationship with one friend change because of this immortality business...I don't want things to change like that with Ramon as well."

Smiling once more, the elder immortal laid a hand on Jacqueline's shoulder. "Pardon me if this sounds a tad clichéd, but where there's a will, there's always a way. If you really want to keep Ramon's friendship as it is, the means will present itself sooner or later. I promise, you won't have to lie to him forever."

"But Siroc said...."

"Considering what he's been through, Jacqueline, can you really blame him for not trusting the Watchers?" She frowned. "Of course, the lad's always had problems trusting people...even I don't know everything about him, and I've known him for almost his whole immortal life. But believe me, the whole 'Watchers and immortals' thing is hardly black and white. There's plenty of gray area to explore, and eventually you'll figure out what will work in Ramon's case. There's no need to start cutting him out just because your captain recruited him to keep an eye on you two."

Jacqueline nodded slowly as she considered Rebecca's words. "I suppose...wait a second," she said, frowning as she met her elder's eyes. "Did you call me...?"

"Jacqueline?"

"H-how...?"

Rebecca laughed. "How did I know? Well, it wasn't that hard, really. After all, I _have_ known you since you were an infant. A lot has changed since then, but your eyes are just as I remember...bold...determined...ready to take on the world. Even that excellent disguise of yours couldn't conceal that...not from me, anyway."

"How long have you known?"

"Since Siroc introduced you. I wanted to say something then, but he gave me this look that said to leave it. And I figured he must have been testing you or something, so I did."

"Oh...."

"Don't worry...if it makes you feel better, I can assure you that I would have been fooled had I not known you from before. It really is an excellent disguise you've created for yourself. Amanda seemed quite taken with 'Jacques'...at least, she was before she met your young Spanish friend, there." At the mention of Ramon, Jacqueline sighed, returning her attention to the courtyard. "You're worried about him, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

Rebecca smiled. "He's your friend. Of course you're going to be concerned about him getting involved with someone as...spirited...as Amanda."

"I just don't want him to get hurt."

"And I wish I could promise you that he won't, but that's a risk with any relationship. What I can tell you, though, is that Amanda would never set out to hurt him on purpose."

Jacqueline shook her head. "I don't doubt you on that, Rebecca. But Ramon tends to fall fast and hard, and I fear she'll hurt him-whether she means to or not-when he finds out that her feelings don't run as deep as his. And it really bothers me that Siroc is content to just sit back and let it happen purely for the sake of keeping secrets. Makes me wonder just how much he's hiding from me. I mean, I understand about him having trust issues, especially given what he's been through, but...."

"But it hurts that he's not willing to extend that trust to you, after what you've been through together."

The female musketeer nodded. "I'm supposed to be his student. And the way he talks, that's a pretty big deal in the immortal-our-world. So why does actually getting him to open up feel like pulling teeth?"

"It's not really my place to say...." Rebecca trailed off, then sighed. "What do you know of Siroc's teacher?"

"Alexander?" The elder immortal nodded, and Jacqueline shook her head. "Not much. Just that he's a thousand years older than Siroc and grew up as a slave in Sparta. He and Siroc were pretty close until he earned his freedom from the arena, at which point he pretty much abandoned Siroc."

"Well, you pretty much covered the basics, but it's a bit more complicated. Alexander and Siroc were probably about as close as two people can possibly get. He was the first one to treat Siroc like a human being instead of property...showed him that he was worthy of being loved. If not for Alexander, I shudder to think how Siroc might have ended up. Beltranus really did quite a number on him."

"I know...I've seen some of that firsthand." She paused, turning to look at the elder immortal. "So what happened? With Alexander, I mean. How could he just take off like he did?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I wish I knew. But Siroc was devastated. Alexander was the first person he'd ever let into his heart, only to have it torn out and stomped on...so to speak. I'd wager that's why he keeps everyone at arm's length now. He's..."

"...afraid of getting hurt again," Jacqueline finished. "And having Jocelyn taken from him like she was only made it that much worse."

"Yes, it did. Took him nearly half a millennium to find someone else he could trust enough to really open up to...someone else he could let in...and those brutes that call themselves 'Watchers' took her away because of that ridiculous rule of theirs." She sighed. "The boy's been through enough betrayal and heartbreak to last a hundred lifetimes, at least. But the fact that he was willing to take you on as his student tells me that he's trying. It's been at least...." She paused, searching her memories. "...seven hundred years since he's even attempted to teach anyone; and that one was killed pretty quickly because he refused to really listen to anything beyond the 'living forever' part of immortality. You must be someone pretty special if Siroc thought it worth the risk to try and teach you."

Jacqueline sighed, turning to stare out the window once more. "I certainly don't feel all that special, Rebecca. Frankly, all I feel right now is...well...confused."

"Confused?" the elder immortal asked. "About what?"

"Everything...Siroc, the Watchers, the Game...immortality itself, even. Not that there's anything I can do about it...." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Don't get me wrong, Rebecca. It's not that I'm not grateful to still be alive, when by all rights I should be six feet under alongside my brother. It's just...." Another sigh. "Forget it, you wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"You grew up pagan...how could you possibly understand what's going through my mind right now?"

Rebecca chuckled softly, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. "You think, just because I worshipped different gods as a mortal, that I wouldn't understand what it's like to have a lifetime's worth of beliefs challenged by becoming immortal? Artemis might not have been anything like the Christian God, but believe me, when I first became immortal, I found myself asking all the same questions I'm sure you're asking."

Jacqueline snorted. "It's not the same...it can't be. I mean...all my life, I was taught to see the world a certain way. Only God is immortal, and if I behaved myself and followed all the rules, I'd see Him one day in Paradise. And I tried to be good...I really did. Okay, so I have broken a few commandments here and there...I didn't always honor my father as I should have, I lied to him sometimes...but I always went to confession after and unburdened myself." She sighed. "Then Mazarin came along. His captain killed my father, and I returned the favor...at least, I thought I had. I stole a man's clothes after that...presented myself at the musketeer garrison under false pretences...betrayed my sex by masquerading as a man and pretending to be someone and something I wasn't. I've killed...true, it usually happened in the heat of battle, but that hardly changes the fact that men have died at my hand. And I never confessed, either...not really. I know the confessional is supposed to be a sacred trust, but I could never convince myself that the priests weren't working with Mazarin, at least on some level, and I feared that telling them who I was and what I'd done-even in confession-would end up getting me killed. Wouldn't put it past that snake to violate the sanctity of the confessional for personal gain...though it probably wouldn't have mattered in the end, since his men came after me anyway." The female musketeer chuckled mirthlessly. "I always thought that when my time came...well...I figured I'd probably spend a few years in Purgatory as penance for the things I haven't confessed to, but in the end I'd be with my family in Heaven. Of course, when I do finally get killed, I find out that there is no end for me...that I'll be here forever, unless someone comes along and cuts off my head-in which case my soul...life force...whatever you want to call it...becomes part of the immortal who did the deed. And the only way to prevent that is to take the other guy's head first." She shook her head. "So I'm either a murderer, or nothing. No Heaven, Hell, or even Purgatory. Just...oblivion. I'll never see Mother, Father, or Gerard ever again, no matter what I do." She turned to look at Rebecca, and the elder immortal could see tears glistening in her eyes. "Why is this happening to me, Rebecca?" Jacqueline asked softly. "Am I being punished?"

Jacqueline broke down at that, and Rebecca instinctively gathered the younger woman into her arms. "Shh...it's okay," she whispered soothingly as the young immortal slowly relaxed into the embrace, staining the fabric of her dress with her tears. "Believe me, Jacqueline, this is _not_ a punishment."

"H-how can you be so sure?"

"Because," she replied, pulling back to look Jacqueline in the eyes, "that's not the way this works. Becoming immortal isn't based on what you've done as a mortal. It just...happens. Young or old, rich or poor, good or bad...anyone can potentially become one. Some of us can sense that potential in mortals, but in many cases it's impossible to know for sure until it happens. In fact, one of Amanda's students was just a ten-year-old boy, who became one of us after some awful men decided to kill him and his parents over 'taxes' that his father couldn't pay. And trust me when I say that the lad had done nothing to deserve any sort of divine 'punishment.' Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Jacqueline nodded slowly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "I-I think so. You're saying that this is just random? That there's no real purpose to my immortality?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all," Rebecca frowned. "I may not fully understand the hows or whys of what we are, but I do know that nothing happens without a reason. Yes, there might be some randomness in terms of _who_ becomes immortal, but that hardly means you don't have a purpose." She sighed. "Come...I want to show you something."

"What?"

"You'll see," she replied with an enigmatic smile. Detaching herself from Siroc's newest pupil, Rebecca headed out of the room and down the stairs, Jacqueline close behind. At the bottom of the staircase, she pulled on one of the nearby torches, revealing a secret passage. "You coming?" she asked, standing in the entrance. A moment later, the elder immortal disappeared down the tunnel and, intrigued, Jacqueline couldn't help but follow.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"You know...I was a slave once, too," Rebecca said suddenly-almost casually-as they made their way down the corridor.

Jacqueline squinted at her in the torchlight for a moment, trying to reconcile the woman standing before her with what she'd imagine someone who'd experienced the horrors of slavery would be like. "But you're so...so..."

"Together?" The younger immortal nodded, and the elder shrugged. "I suppose my own experience wasn't quite so traumatic as Siroc's, though it certainly had its moments."

"So what happened...if you don't mind my asking? I mean, were you born into that life, or were you forced into it later on, like he was?"

"I was captured by slavers when I was about twelve and taken back to Mycenae, where I'd come from originally. But before I became a slave, I was something far different." She paused, stopping in front of what looked like a doorway...though it was hard to tell for sure due to the poor lighting. "Tell me, Jacqueline...have you ever heard of the Amazons?"

Jacqueline snorted. "They're a myth, like the Greek gods. Why?" She paused for a moment, frowning. "Wait...you're not trying to tell me that there really were women who ran around naked with one breast cut off, castrating men and kidnapping baby girls?"

"Hardly," Rebecca chuckled. "We generally wore clothes, no one cut off anything, we never kidnapped anyone, and the only men we castrated were guilty of rape and deserved what they got." As the female musketeer's jaw dropped, the ancient grinned. "What? You know what they say...myths and legends are just the truth, a few generations later."

"So...so you're saying that everything I've heard about Amazons is..."

"False?" Jacqueline nodded. "That's right."

"But they really did exist?"

"Yes, they did."

"And you...you were one of them?"

Rebecca smiled. "Now you're catching on."

"Is that what you brought me down here to tell me?" the younger immortal asked, frowning.

"Not just tell you, Jacqueline...show you." With that, Rebecca opened the door she'd been standing in front of and, grabbing the nearest torch, used it to light something inside. A moment later, the whole room was filled with light, as if the sun itself were shining in despite the lack of windows to the outside.

"H-how did you do that?"

She grinned. "Mirrors, strategically placed around the room so that a single source can light the whole thing. But that's hardly what we came down here to see. Look around."

Slowly, Jacqueline ventured inside, where she found what looked almost like a cross between a library and a museum. One wall served as a bookcase, stuffed full of scrolls-far more than she could count. Another was lined with various weapons-swords, staves, bows and arrows, crossbows, and a few that she couldn't identify. But what really caught her attention was the statue over in the far corner. The statue itself-a marble likeness of a young woman-had been dressed in a leather skirt and top which left little to the imagination. And while the dress was rather plain, the accompanying accessories-armbands, gauntlets, etc-were intricately designed using various beads and feathers. Even more fascinating than the outfit, however, was the headdress. It was more like a mask, really; made to look like a bird's head, complete with feathers sticking out of the top and sides almost like a halo. Jacqueline found herself reaching out towards it, as if her hand had a will of its own.

"You like it?" Rebecca asked, interrupting her train of thought.

"It's...amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

"That's the Queen's mask. It belonged to my mother."

Withdrawing her hand, Jacqueline turned to look at the ancient immortal. "Your mother?"

"Closest I've ever had, anyway."

"Were the Amazons the ones who found you?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Sadly, no. My first family, if you could call it that, consisted of a pitiful excuse for a human being who stumbled across me just after his wife died in childbirth along with the infant she delivered. For whatever reason, he decided to keep me and, since he fancied himself a traveling bard, we spent most of our time on the road. Truth was, from what little I can recall from those days, the man was really a violent drunk who was occasionally coherent enough to tell a halfway decent story and earn money for more ale. And if that wasn't bad enough, he was also of the opinion that women should be seen and not heard, and made damn sure I knew it, little as I was. Much of the details are rather fuzzy at this point, but I remember the fear...always walking on eggshells around the man lest I say or do something to set him off."

"That's horrible," Jacqueline gasped, shaking her head in disbelief. "Anyone who could treat a child like that ought to be shot." She paused. "So...what happened? How did these Amazons get involved?"

"Well, one day...I think I was about three or four at the time... 'Father' and I found ourselves in the middle of their territory. I tried to warn him off when I saw the talismans on the trees, remembering the stories I'd heard about them from _actual_ bards, but he wouldn't listen. In fact, he got angry with me for daring to contradict him. What he didn't know was that the Amazons kept their territory very well guarded. There were at least a half-dozen eyewitnesses watching from the trees when he started to beat me and...well...let's just say that they pretty much agreed with your assessment of what that man deserved. Of course, I was still just a child, and seeing them go after him-even if he had it coming-was pretty frightening. I ran and hid at the first opportunity, but I suppose my hiding spot wasn't very good. When it was over, someone wearing that very mask," she said, gesturing to the one on the statue, "knelt down in front of me and removed it, revealing herself to be a beautiful woman with flaming red hair, like mine. She introduced herself as Cyane, the Queen of the Amazons-that tribe, anyway-and gently asked me if I'd like to go home with her."

"And you said yes?"

"Of course I did. What else was I to do? It's not like I had anywhere else to go." Rebecca sighed. "Anyway...after that, I can remember her scooping me up in her arms and holding me close. It was the first time anyone had ever held me that way, far as I could recall, and it felt...good. I knew then and there that she would take care of me...that where I was going would really be _home_. She asked my name, but I don't think my so-called father ever called me anything but 'girl' and I told her as much."

"Is she the one who named you Rebecca?"

"Close. She called me Riveka, which is the Greek version of the name. I changed it to Rebecca after I converted to Christianity over a millennium later."

"I see...." Jacqueline sighed. "Fascinating as all this is, what does it have to do with me?"

"You're not one for patience, are you?" the elder immortal chuckled. Jacqueline glared, and Rebecca shook her head. "I promise there's a point to this, but you have to hear the whole story to understand."

The female musketeer nodded. "Okay."

"Good...now, where was I?"

"The Amazon Queen took you home and named you Riveka."

"Right. Well, when we got back to the village, Cyane announced to the tribe that she was officially adopting me as her daughter, then took me back to her hut and introduced me to her two natural ones. There was Melosa, who was about five or six at the time, and Terreis, who was still nursing. I was right in the middle. It was nice having a real family, and I adapted to the Amazon way of life pretty quickly. Terreis and I grew pretty close, being so near in age to each other, but Melosa was a bit more aloof...then again, she was next in line to be Queen and much more was expected of her. But Cyane-Mother-loved us all equally and made sure all three of us were properly educated. We learned reading, writing, history, philosophy...and, when we started to grow into womanhood, we were to begin our training as warriors. I remember how, after Melosa started her training, Terreis and I would sneak away from our lessons to watch her and her friends practice, longing for the day when we would be able to join them."

"Seems like an awful lot of education, especially compared to what I got," Jacqueline muttered, more than a little envious.

"Well, society's idea of how women should be taught hasn't changed all that much in 2,000 years. The Amazons were a bit of an anomaly. As Mother always told us, it's a man's world...not because it should be, but because we let them have it."

"What's that mean?"

"For most of the world, the 'natural order' is based on the idea that women are the weaker sex and therefore must be protected. We are taught as much from birth, and most of us never bother to question it. The Amazons, on the other hand, rejected that idea and encouraged women to live up to their full potential...to realize their own strength and use it. It wasn't about hating men, as most people seem to believe, but about helping women to be all that they could be."

"To help them become warriors?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Warriors, healers, teachers...whatever they wanted. All Amazons learned how to fight, but that didn't mean it was the only thing we were allowed to do with our lives."

"So what did you choose to do?"

"Sadly, I never got the chance to decide. I was twelve years old, as I said earlier, and just starting my training when the village was raided by some warlord whose name I never found out. He and his men came right for us younger Amazons, probably hoping we'd be easy marks. They were looking for girls to sell as slaves. Melosa told Terreis and I to go find Mother and the other adults while she and her friends held the men off. Terreis went, but I foolishly stayed behind, thinking I had something to prove."

"And you were taken."

Rebecca nodded. "Mother tried to save me, but she was killed in the attempt. The last thing I remember seeing before one of the men knocked me out was her taking an arrow in the chest from one of their archers. Next thing I knew, I was in some sort of prison wagon and headed for the slave market in Mycenae, where I was quickly sold to King Agamemnon himself."

"Agamemnon...as in the Trojan War?" At Rebecca's surprised look, Jacqueline shrugged. "Siroc gave me a translation of _The Iliad_ to read after he figured out that 'Jacques' wasn't really a noble...said I needed to have at least some knowledge of the classics in order to keep up with the others, since they all had formal educations. You know how persistent he can be when an idea gets into his head."

"Yes, I know...and yes, it was that Agamemnon, though I was brought to him a few years before the war even began. At first, I was treated just like any other slave...which is to say, not very well. It wasn't the most horrible situation I could've been in, but nor was it exactly pleasant. I think the worst part was that I was alone. Most of the girls that had been taken when I was chose to end their own lives rather than become slaves, and those that did not ended up with other masters. And though, as I said, I was treated the same as any other slave, when Agamemnon and his court looked at me, I could tell they thought of me as some sort of savage. The only one who didn't look at me that way was Aganesthes, the captain of his personal guard, though I wouldn't find out why until much later." Rebecca drew in a deep breath, not looking forward to reliving this part of her past. "Anyway...as I grew into womanhood, things started to change. Agamemnon started to look at me differently. It wasn't a savage he saw anymore...I wasn't exactly familiar with the notion of lust at the time, but even I could tell that his attitude had changed. I talked to his wife's chambermaid about it, since Mother never got the chance to have the whole 'birds and bees' discussion with me. She told me what it was that Agamemnon wanted and said that it would probably be best if I just gave it to him when and if he asked." She shook her head. "The thought horrified me. One thing I do remember Mother telling me was that I should never, ever allow a man to treat me like an object, and here was this other woman advising me to do exactly that."

"So what happened?"

"What do you think?" She sighed. "Believe me, I had every intention of telling him to find someone else. But then another one of his slave girls turned up dead, reportedly after refusing his advances. I know that any self-respecting Amazon would've preferred death over becoming someone's concubine, but I wanted to live. I gave up everything I'd been raised to believe for the sake of Agamemnon's mercy, and was his mistress for nearly a decade. He even took me to Troy with him, leaving his wife at home. Of course, all things come to an end eventually. For me, it happened when another slave, jealous of the attention Agamemnon was giving me, decided to take out the competition. She stabbed me in the back, and the next thing I remember was waking up in a ditch, where I'd been left to rot." She paused. "No, that's not exactly true...I do have a rather vivid memory of meeting Mother in the Amazon Land of the Dead, only to have her tell me that I didn't belong there. And all I could think when I woke up was that I was being punished...that by giving myself to Agamemnon, I'd betrayed my sister Amazons, and therefore was unworthy to reside with them in the afterlife...if the goddess would even allow me one after what I'd done. Under the circumstances, it didn't seem likely, considering that I was alive when I should have been dead."

Jacqueline stared at her for a moment, finally starting to understand Rebecca's point. "But you were only doing what you had to do to survive. What god or goddess could possibly find fault in that?"

"Exactly," Rebecca grinned, glad that the younger immortal was getting the message. "But at the time, I didn't see it that way. Not knowing why it was that I'd survived that fatal blow, I could only assume that it was some sort of divine punishment. It wasn't until Aganesthes found me that I started to understand what had happened, and even then it took quite some time to fully convince myself that my immortality wasn't Artemis' way of making me pay for my sins."

"The captain of Agamemnon's guard...he was immortal?"

"And my teacher. After he found me, he resigned his post and returned to Greece so that he could train me properly. I stayed with him for about a year or so, then made my way back to Amazon territory, hoping that they'd take me back." She chuckled. "I needn't have worried. As soon as Terreis caught sight of me, she abandoned her post and rushed over, throwing her arms around me. Though she tried to hide it, I could tell she was crying. But once she settled down, she started firing all kinds of questions at me about where I'd been and how I'd survived. I couldn't answer all of them, obviously, but I told her as much as I was able. And she didn't seem to care that I'd done the things I had with Agamemnon. All that mattered to Terreis was that her sister was alive and had come home."

"What about Melosa? How did she take it?"

Rebecca sighed. "I didn't get as warm a greeting from her as I did Terreis, but I think that had more to do with the fact that she'd had so much responsibility shoved onto her shoulders at such a young age...the burden of being Queen had hardened her. But she didn't object to me rejoining the tribe, just so long as I worked with Eponin-the current weapons master-to finish my training. She never really acknowledged me as her sister, though...not even after Terreis was killed a few months later by a warlord trying to provoke us into war with the Centaurs across the river."

At that, Jacqueline's eyebrows shot way up. "Whoa...wait a second. Are you actually trying to convince me that Centaurs existed? Creatures that are half man and half horse?" She shook her head. "Amazons, I can accept. But Centaurs...?"

"Just because they don't exist today, doesn't mean that they never did. You'd be amazed at the sorts of creatures that roamed the ancient world. Centaurs, hydras, harpies, bacchae, dryads...the list goes on and on. But Caesar and his legions made sure that the ones that hadn't died off already were wiped off the face of the earth by the time he attempted to seize power. Amazons included."

"You were there...you were still with them when Caesar came." She frowned. "But wasn't that hundreds of years later?"

Rebecca nodded. "All things considered, an immortal being was hardly the strangest thing the Amazons had ever come across. They never asked me why it was I didn't age, and I never explained. It was just accepted." She shrugged. "Maybe they thought Artemis had blessed me with immortality or something. I don't know. But I was allowed to remain with the tribe to the end."

"So you did get to become an Amazon warrior after all."

"Technically, I suppose, but I never really felt much like one. Maybe it was the baggage from my past with Agamemnon, but I just didn't feel like I was worthy of the honor of carrying this blade," she said, reaching up and taking one of the swords from the wall. It was a broadsword, but shorter and lighter...made for a woman, obviously. The guard was designed to look like a golden bird, with wings stretching up towards the point of the blade. The handle was wrapped in black leather, and there was an odd design on the pommel...kind of like a circle on top of a 't'. "This is the blade of a true Amazon. I carried it while I lived with them, but over time I found my true purpose-not in fighting, but in helping to preserve their history for future generations. That, and teaching new immortals, though that didn't come along until much later. After the conquest by Caesar, I returned and gathered what was left...clothes, weapons, art, and the scrolls I'd written, detailing the lives of my sister Amazons...the ones I'd known, as well as those who'd gone on before that I'd managed to research. I found a safe place to store them temporarily, and after I acquired this abbey some centuries later, I moved everything down here." She paused, turning to look at Jacqueline. "You're the first person I've ever shown this to. Not even Siroc and Amanda know my true history."

"Why me?"

"Because," Rebecca smiled, "you _are_ an Amazon. Perhaps not by birth, but you possess all the qualities that the Amazons prized. Strength, intelligence, courage, independence, determination...you pursued your dream of being a musketeer despite the fact that it was a career open only to men. And not only did you achieve that dream, but you've earned the respect of both your comrades and your superiors, at least a few of whom know the truth and still want you to serve."

Jacqueline couldn't help but blush at the praise. "Not just serve. The King...he wants me to lead the musketeers someday. Me...a poor farmer's daughter, captain of the musketeers." She paused. "And I think His Majesty suspects something...I mean...he said I can be a musketeer for however long I wish, then told me to 'watch my head.' Do you think he knows?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Who knows? But maybe that's why you became immortal."

"What do you mean?"

"Well...what if God isn't punishing you? What if He wants you to be an immortal so that you can protect the Bourbon line, however long it may last?"

"Do you really think that's true?"

"It's certainly a strong possibility. But only you can decide for sure. I can't tell you how to live your life, but take it from me...letting unnecessary guilt over your past consume you is no way to go."

She nodded. "I understand, but I'm still not sure I can do this."

"Do what?"

"This...this so-called 'Game.' I mean, I can understand killing in the heat of battle. It's not my preferred way to end things, but sometimes it just can't be helped. Still, when I've fought in the past, I never went in planning to kill someone. Going into battle, knowing that your opponent is going to have to lose his head for you to survive...the more I think about it, the more it feels like murder." She sighed, lifting her head to look Rebecca in the eyes. "How do you do it?"

"It's not easy, I can tell you that. To be honest, I've never really believed in this whole 'Game.' Never even heard anything about it until centuries after I became immortal, around the time Christianity started to become the dominant religion...not that I'm blaming Christians for this. My theory is that it was Hunters...Watchers who think that we're abominations that need to be cleansed from the earth. And if it was, they certainly found an ingenious way to get the job done. Convincing immortals that there's some great prize waiting for them if they kill the rest of their own kind was a stroke of brilliance. I mean, immortals did kill each other before the prize rumors started going around, but it was for the same reasons mortals kill each other...greed, anger, revenge, power....We knew about the quickenings, and so did the Watchers, so it wouldn't have been much of a stretch to twist it around so that taking heads became the goal, rather than simply a means to an end."

"But if you don't think the Game really exists, why do you fight?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I never said the Game didn't exist...just that I didn't believe in it. Unfortunately, my belief is hardly enough. As long as most immortals do believe in the Game and its so-called prize, then, for all purposes, it does exist. I don't think there's really some big prize waiting, but I have to fight in order to survive just because there are so many immortals out there that do, whether I like it or not. It's the reason I chose to build a home on Holy Ground. That rule predates any talk of a prize, and having this refuge helps me to live my life as I choose, rather than having to constantly look over my shoulder for the next challenge. Not that I can't hold my own. Believe me, you don't live as long as I have without knowing how to fight. I just prefer to find alternatives when they are available."

"Alternatives? Can you show me?"

"Are you asking me to be your teacher?"

"Yes...no...I don't know....I mean, I don't want to leave Siroc, but...."

"He's been rather preoccupied lately?" Jacqueline nodded. "Understandable, given the circumstances. Tell you what...I'll work with you while you're here...give Siroc a chance to focus on his own upcoming fight. I'm sure I know at least a few tricks he hasn't even thought of yet," she grinned. "And after it's over, if you still want me to take over as your teacher, then I'll be more than happy to do it. Deal?"

"Deal," Jacqueline replied, and the two of them shook on it.

"Good. Now...if I'm going to be your teacher, even temporarily, then you're going to need this," the elder immortal said, handing Jacqueline the Amazon blade she'd shown her earlier.

The young immortal recoiled. "I-I can't take that...it's yours."

"I may have carried it once, Jacqueline, but like I said...it never really felt like mine. It belongs to you. I've just been holding onto it." She held the blade out once more, and this time Jacqueline took it.

It was strange, but the blade just felt...right...in her hand. Like it had been made for her. She swung it experimentally a few times, testing the weight, and it was a definite improvement from the borrowed cutlass. Smiling, she moved to put it away, only to remember that she'd left her jacket with the hidden sheath upstairs.

Rebecca chuckled. "Let me guess...Siroc made you a special musketeer jacket to hide the sword in?"

"Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"

"That's one way, but I know a much better one. Come...let me show you." Smiling, the elder immortal threw an arm over the younger one's shoulders, and the pair left the hidden archive to start Jacqueline's new training regimen.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

As she and Siroc prepared to leave for Rouen, Jacqueline could scarcely believe that a month had already gone by...a month that she'd spent training with Rebecca so that her comrade could focus on facing his own demons, particularly the one who called himself Bernard.

Truth be told, after a month under Rebecca's tutelage, Jacqueline was seriously considering taking the former Amazon up on her offer. Nothing against Siroc, but the difference between their teaching methods was like night and day. Siroc was, in a word, intense. Not to mention a perfectionist-to him, mistakes were simply intolerable, as she'd quickly discovered. Rebecca, on the other hand, was a bit more laid back. No less serious, but she was far more patient and allowed room for mistakes-so long as Jacqueline didn't keep repeating the same one. She also taught the younger immortal the quarterstaff in addition to the short sword, reasoning that knowing more than one weapon could very well come in handy someday.

The biggest difference, she noticed, was their views on the whole 'head taking' thing. Siroc was pretty adamant that it was the only way and that she'd be a fool not to go for the kill when the opportunity presented itself, while Rebecca believed that though it was sometimes necessary, not all fights had to end in decapitation. It was another reason for teaching her the staff as well...so she could learn a way of fighting that was far less likely to result in death. And though she was still far from an expert, Jacqueline found herself picking this new weapon up almost as quickly as she had the short sword, which was already fairly familiar...a somewhat modified version of the rapier technique she'd long since perfected.

As Jacqueline was tightening the cinch on her horse's saddle, she felt the warning buzz and turned to see Siroc making his way to the stables with his gear. "Ready to go?" he asked as he walked in.

"Just about," she replied, turning back to finish readying her mount. "So what did you do with Ramon?"

"_I _haven't done anything."

"Okay, so what has Amanda...never mind," she muttered, shaking her head to clear the unwanted mental image. It had been a month, and Ramon's attraction to the immortal thief showed no signs of waning. "I'm just wondering how we're going to convince him to go back to the garrison once this is over."

Siroc chuckled. "I'm sure we can work something out." He quickly readied his horse and mounted it. A moment later, Jacqueline followed suit. "You have your sword, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I do."

"Where is it?"

"In a safe place." His eyebrow shot up. "Trust me, it's right where I need it. Okay?"

"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Just checking." He shook his head, and the two of them urged their mounts forward. Lapsing into a comfortable silence, they rode until the horses started to tire. Then, after a short rest, they walked their mounts for a bit before riding again, repeating the pattern until the sun started to disappear from the sky. "Well," Siroc said as they entered a clearing, "I think this is as good a place as any to set up camp for the night."

Jacqueline shrugged. "Works for me." The pair quickly dismounted and began to unpack their supplies. As they worked, Siroc kept stealing glances at his comrade, still trying to figure out just where she was hiding that sword. Unfortunately, before he could come up with any theories, he stumbled across something in his gear...or, rather, the lack of something.

"Where the hell is my bedroll? I have a blanket, but that's it. What about you?" he asked, turning to Jacqueline.

"Uh...I have a bedroll, but it doesn't look like I have a blanket." She frowned. "Rebecca swore she packed everything."

"Wait...you let Rebecca pack your gear?"

She shrugged. "She offered. But you packed your own...right?"

"Actually...Ramon offered to pack it for me." They both looked at each other for a moment, and it hit them. "Those little...I think they're trying to play matchmaker on us."

"What? They wouldn't...would they?"

Siroc shook his head. "How else would you explain this? Looks like we're either sharing a bedroll, or one of us is sleeping in the dirt. And I'm guessing that our would-be cupids are banking on the former."

"But why? What on earth would give them an idea like that?" While she'd be lying if she said she wasn't attracted to the ancient blonde, she couldn't recall saying or doing anything in either Ramon or Rebecca's presence that would indicate how she felt. And she hadn't really spent much time with Siroc since he'd told her about Jocelyn, anyway. What in the world was going through their friends' minds? She sighed, vowing to have a long talk with both of them when she returned to the abbey. "Well...we're both mature adults. Surely we can spend a night or two in the same bed without...well...you know..."

"Turning into a couple of lust-driven animals?" he offered.

Blushing, she gave a slight nod. "Something like that." She paused. "Any suggestions?"

"Well...why don't you sleep under the blanket, and I'll sleep on top of it."

"No way," Jacqueline muttered, shaking her head. "I can't let you sleep out in the open like that."

He shrugged. "Believe me, I've had much worse. A night or two without a blanket is hardly going to kill me. One of the perks of immortality," he added with a grin.

"Funny," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Nice as it was to see Siroc relaxed for a change, he really needed to work on his sense of humor. "Why don't we just find an inn for the night?"

"On what money?" he asked. "I don't know about you, but I didn't bring any since we were staying with Rebecca. Didn't think I'd need it."

Jacqueline sighed, knowing he was right. She hadn't thought to bring any money either. "Alright...we'll go with your idea for tonight, but tomorrow we switch places."

Siroc frowned. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I left you sleep exposed to the elements like that?"

"I'm immortal too, remember? It won't kill me any more than it would you."

"Fine," he conceded. "Let's just get something to eat so we can get to bed. We've got a long day ahead of us."

She nodded, watching as he pulled several food items from his pack and proceeded to mix them together in a small pot while she worked on starting a fire to cook it on. The resulting stew didn't look like much, but actually tasted pretty good. They ate in relative silence, then set up the one bedroll their well-meaning but misguided friends had left them with. As agreed, she snuggled beneath the blanket, while he lay on top. Unfortunately, neither one of them was able to get to sleep. After several minutes of trying unsuccessfully to drift off, Jacqueline rolled over to look at Siroc, who was staring at her rather oddly. "What?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

"You know...you never did tell me where you keep your sword."

Rolling her eyes, Jacqueline turned to face the other direction. "I really don't think now is the appropriate time."

"Why not? I can't seem to get to sleep, and apparently you're not having much luck, either." He frowned. "Come on...what is it, some kind of big secret or something?"

"That's right," she shot back, looking at him once more. "It is a secret...girls only, in fact. No guys allowed."

"Well, technically you're..." he trailed off, seeing the rather stern look she was giving him.

"Don't push it."

He sighed. "I don't see why this is such a big deal."

"Because I promised Rebecca I'd keep it between us, alright? Now drop it."

"Fine...have it your way..." he muttered, rolling over so his back was to her. Shaking her head at his immaturity, she laid back and stared up at the stars. It wasn't that she didn't trust him. But a promise was a promise. Truth was, the whole sword thing was a bit of magic that, according to Rebecca, had been passed down from one female immortal to the next for centuries, supposedly starting with a witch named Cassandra. Though Jacqueline wasn't particularly comfortable with the idea of magic, it made sense once Rebecca had explained it. Female immortals didn't have the same luxury as the men when it came to carrying their blades, and their clothing was hardly practical for concealing one in a way that it could be accessed quickly. So this Cassandra had created a spell that would send the blade to some sort of nether-region while it wasn't being used. And once you knew it, all you had to do is whisper the words-or, with enough practice, simply think them-and your blade could be concealed or retrieved anytime, anywhere, in a matter of seconds. Jacqueline still had to actually say the words to get it to work, but she was getting better. She just wished Siroc would stop being so nosey.

Several minutes later, Jacqueline was finally starting to drift off when she felt something moving across her stomach. Her eyes shot open, and she found herself staring up at Siroc. The next thing she knew, her comrade's lips were touching her own. She didn't resist at first, more out of shock than anything else, but when he tried to deepen the kiss she put her hands on his chest and shoved him off. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, looking at him in confusion. Mumbling something that sounded like 'sorry,' the blonde immortal quickly returned to his side of the bedroll, turning his back to her. Frowning, she reached over and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "Siroc?" she asked softly. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Forget it...you'll think it's stupid."

"No I won't. I promise."

"It's just..." he sighed, turning back over to face her. "This might be my last chance."

Jacqueline's eyebrow shot up. "Last chance for what?"

"To...to show you...how I feel." Another sigh. "I-I think I'm falling for you, Jacqueline," he whispered, reaching up and brushing his fingers along her cheek. "I know I shouldn't...that things never end well when an immortal gets involved with their student. I've spent centuries shutting off my heart...letting my head take control so I didn't get hurt again. But I can't do that anymore, and I don't want to die without being able to love you properly." He leaned in for another kiss, but she gently pushed him back.

"You're not going to die, Siroc."

"You don't know that."

"And you do?" She paused. "That's what this is about, isn't it? You're afraid that Bernard is going to win."

Nodding, he turned away from her once more. "Beltranus...he's always had this hold over me. It...it's hard to explain, but...well...much as I want-need-to see him gone, there's still part of me that just wants to curl up in a corner and beg him for mercy. Been like that for as long as I can remember." He sighed. "I've spent my whole immortal life perfecting my skills...suppressing the memories of my childhood so that when and if the time came I'd be able to face him. But all I have to do is look at that bastard and everything comes rushing back...I'm that scared little boy again instead of the man I've worked so long to become." He turned back to Jacqueline, and she could see the fear in his eyes. "What if that happens tomorrow? What if I freeze, and he takes my head without a fight?"

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

She squeezed his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. "Because...this time you have something to fight for. Me, Ramon, D'Artagnan, Duval...what happens to us if he takes your head?"

"Great..." he muttered. "Just what I need, more pressure."

"I'm just saying that fighting for something beyond your own survival is going to make a big difference. What does Bernard...Beltranus...have outside of his own self-interest?"

"N-nothing that I can think of."

"Exactly," she nodded. "As long as you remember that, I know you'll do just fine. There's no need to rush into anything," she added softly.

Siroc seemed to deflate a bit at that last comment. "You don't share my feelings, do you?"

She sighed. "I care about you a great deal, Siroc. I'm just not sure that it's love...not the kind you're hoping for, anyway. Until I figure things out, I don't think it's a good idea to do anything we might end up regretting."

"Are you saying you'd regret being with me?"

Jacqueline shook her head. "I don't know how I'd feel about it, and that's the point. I don't think that it's worth risking our friendship over."

"Alright," he nodded. "If that's how you feel, I suppose I can hold out for awhile longer. Wouldn't want to push you into something you're not ready for. Just...tell me there's some hope. Please...."

The female musketeer smiled, gently running a hand through his slightly shaggy blonde locks. "Well...I'm not entirely opposed to the idea. One day, when it's not life or death and we're both ready, I don't see why we couldn't give it a go. I just don't want my first time to be a hurried grope in the middle of a forest."

Siroc chuckled softly. "It's not exactly my preference, either." He sighed. "You're right...the first time should be special. I'm just...I don't know..."

"It's alright...I get it. You're afraid of losing your chance." Shifting position so she was behind Siroc, she wrapped an arm around his waist. "Don't worry...I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

"Promise?"

"Absolutely. You're stuck with me." At her whispered reassurance, Siroc finally seemed to relax. He soon fell asleep, and it wasn't long before she joined him.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Things between the two immortals were a bit awkward the next morning, given the night's revelations, but they somehow managed to carry on as though nothing had changed. They made small talk as they broke their fast and packed up their gear, but neither mentioned anything about whatever feelings they did or did not have for the other. Jacqueline was a bit frustrated, seeing him shut back down so soon after finally opening up to her, but she let it go...there would be plenty of time for that after they took care of Bernard and his henchman.

They rode out of their camp as soon as their things were safely stowed in their saddlebags, wanting to reach the appointed site as quickly as possible. Siroc was a bundle of nerves, constantly scrutinizing their surroundings and checking to make sure his sword was handy, and Jacqueline wasn't faring much better. She didn't think she'd have much trouble with Maurice, but couldn't help but worry about how her comrade would fare against his former master. Despite her reassurances to the contrary, she feared that Bernard would manage to get inside Siroc's head and use those horrible memories against him. All she could do, though, was pray that he'd be strong enough to resist the former centurion's mind games and do what needed to be done.

Jacqueline's musings were cut short by the elder immortal, who'd brought his mount to a rather abrupt stop. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" As if to answer her question, arrows suddenly started whizzing past them, one even grazing her arm before she could move out of the way. "What the hell...? she muttered, grabbing a low-hanging tree branch and pulling herself up to safety the way Rebecca had shown her. Siroc, meanwhile, had abandoned his own mount and ducked behind the trunk.

"What in blazes are you doing up there?" he hissed.

"Never mind that," she shot back, not really in the mood to discuss Rebecca's lessons. "Who the hell is shooting at us?" Peering through the foliage, she finally caught sight of the archers, all of whom were dressed up in what appeared to be ancient Roman armor. "Friends of yours?" she asked, pointing them out to her comrade.

"They're Beltranus'," he whispered. "I recognize the insignia on their banner." He swore in some ancient tongue Jacqueline didn't understand, though the intent was clear. "I should've seen this coming...he's doing everything he can to remind me of our past."

"By sending men out in ancient armor?"

He nodded. "I don't know who they are or how much he's offered them, but they're wearing the same uniform as his legionnaires...right down to the bloody sandals. The same legionnaires who stood by and let him treat me the way he did, without so much as a word." He shook his head, making himself as small as he could against the tree trunk. "I can't do this," he muttered. "I can't face him...not this way."

The deluge of arrows stopped for a moment, and Jacqueline peeked out to see the archers just standing there, waiting. Taking advantage of the respite, she quietly dropped down next to Siroc, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, you can," she assured him. "You run now, you're playing right into his hands...giving him exactly what he wants. Between the two of us, I know we can take these guys down and still have plenty left for Beltranus and Maurice."

"Jacqueline, you don't-" She cut him off with a kiss, which had the intended effect of shocking him out of his fearful protests. It felt pretty good too, but there would be time to figure out that part later.

"Let's go...take the fight to them before they find something else to lob at us."

He nodded. "W-whatever you say."

"Good." She thought for a moment, then frowned. "Any ideas?"

"How many are there?" he asked, straightening up a bit.

"I counted three, maybe four archers, and about a dozen or so others."

"So we're outnumbered at least six to one."

"Looks that way," Jacqueline nodded. "How well do you think he trained them?"

Siroc shrugged. "Who knows? Chances are, though, that they're meant to be little more than cannon fodder...a way to try and wear us down before he makes his big entrance."

"So what's the plan?"

"We split up...you go to the right, I'll go to the left. They'll have to divide their forces to deal with both of us, giving us a better chance than if we charged them head-on. Take them out as quickly as you can, before you-know-who decides to show himself."

"Take them out?"

"You heard me," he said, drawing his gladius. "I know how Beltranus operates. Leaving any of them alive would be a mistake-trust me."

"Whatever you say," Jacqueline muttered half-heartedly, rather dismayed at her comrade's apparent willingness to slaughter those men like sheep. Either unaware of or unconcerned with her reaction, Siroc took off, slipping through the trees with ease. Shaking her head, she quickly followed suit in the opposite direction, though she didn't retrieve her blade. Rather, she snuck up behind a 'legionnaire' near the edge of the group and, after knocking him with a quick blow to the back of his neck, claimed the spear he'd been holding and snapped off the point, turning it into a staff.

Unfortunately, this action did not go unnoticed by the others. Several more arrows were shot in her direction, which she deftly avoided, only to find herself surrounded. As predicted, about half of the group was focused on her, while the rest were dealing with Siroc, who she could see near the other end of the small clearing, his blade flashing in the sunlight as he fought the pseudo-Romans. Twirling her makeshift staff, Jacqueline took a moment to assess her situation. The men had formed a small circle around her, with two of the archers standing just outside of it with their bows trained on her position. Most were armed with short swords, not unlike Siroc's, though a couple of them were holding spears like the one she'd just confiscated. And, oddly enough, they seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move.

"Look," she said, not wanting to play Bernard's sick little game. "I don't know what he's paying you, but I can assure you it's not worth it. Withdraw now, and I won't be forced to give you the beating of your lives." The men just laughed at that statement, and she felt her cheeks burning in humiliation. "I'm serious! I don't want to hurt anyone, but that doesn't mean I won't." Still laughing, one of the spear-wielders thrust forward in an attempt to knock her staff from her hands. She quickly retaliated. In one smooth, well-practiced maneuver, she knocked his weapon aside and broke his nose with the end of hers.

This was enough to spur the rest into action. They surged forward, but were driven back by the continued twirling of her staff-which, as intended, gave her a bit more space to work.

"Come on," she taunted. "Is no one else man enough to fight me?" A few more tried their luck, only to be beaten back in much the same manner as the first. Jacqueline may not have wanted to kill anyone, but she had no problem leaving them with a few bruises and broken bones. Give them something to think about.

One man got in a lucky shot, slicing her staff in half. Unfortunately for him, all that did was double her weapons, as she used the two halves to knock both him and one of his comrades senseless. She broke one of the halves over the head of a third man and, after a few more blows with what remained of her staff, discarded it in favor of a sword that one of the thugs had dropped.

But just as Jacqueline was moving to take possession of the blade, a searing pain went through her right leg, sending her crashing to her knees. Looking down, she saw an arrow sticking out of her thigh, the arrowhead having gone straight through her flesh. She reached down to remove it, only to find several swords pointed at her throat...more than there should've been, given the number of opponents she'd already incapacitated. Glancing to her left, she saw Siroc in a similar position, save for the fact that the arrow had gone through his shoulder instead of his leg.

Wordlessly, one of the men bound her hands behind her while the rest held her at sword point. A moment later, she bit back a scream as she was hauled to her feet and the arrow roughly yanked from her thigh. "What do you want?" she demanded through clenched teeth. Obviously, Siroc's 'cannon fodder' theory was way off.

"Boss is waitin' for ya," was the only reply she got before a sack was shoved over her head. In moments, she found herself being force-marched through the forest. She could feel Siroc nearby, presumably being treated in much the same fashion. He didn't seem to be putting up much of a fight, from what she could hear, and that worried her. What if Bernard's mind games were working?

Soon, Jacqueline felt the ancient's presence, and shortly thereafter her captors shoved her to her knees and yanked the sack away. Blinking against the sunlight, she got a good look at her surroundings-an old jousting arena, it appeared, complete with half-rotted banners flapping feebly in the wind above the stands. Siroc was right next to her, trembling and paler than she'd ever seen him. And it wasn't long before the reason for his reaction became clear.

Standing before them was Bernard...or rather, Beltranus, resplendent in his polished bronze armor. The monster of Siroc's nightmares, come to life. "Welcome," he boomed, a triumphant grin spreading across his features. "How _good_ of you to join us."

"Like we had a choice," Jacqueline shot back. "Is this your idea of a fair fight? Are you planning to take our heads while we kneel here, bound and helpless?"

"Tempting...but hardly sporting. What kind of monster do you take me for?"

"I really don't think you want me to answer that," she spat, glaring. "Enough games, Bernard...untie us now so we can get this over with."

Laughing, Bernard reached forward and seized her chin. "Not so fast, girl. I want you to witness my triumph over this pathetic little worm you call a teacher." As he spoke, she stole a glance at Siroc, who still seemed frozen with terror. "Then," Bernard continued, "you and Maurice can have your fun."

She spat in his face. "You take Siroc's head, and I'll have yours before the quickening is even finished."

Releasing his grip, he wiped the spittle from his cheek and shook his head. "No...you won't. I can see it in your eyes. You're not a killer...not really"

"Try me."

"We'll see." He gestured to his men, who quickly dragged her off to one side. As they did, she caught sight of Maurice nearby. He was dressed similarly to the hired thugs, only with less armor. Held in place by two of Bernard's thugs, she watched as Siroc's bonds were cut and his gladius thrust back into his hands. He shakily rose to his feet, and it was painfully obvious that fear still had hold of him.

"Snap out of it, Siroc!" she called out. "Don't-" One of the thugs punched her in the stomach, cutting her off. Luckily, it seemed that what she'd said had at least some effect. Siroc appeared to have regained a bit of his confidence, twirling his blade as he and his former master circled each other.

With Bernard distracted, Jacqueline decided it was time to make her move. Whispering the words Rebecca had taught her, she summoned her sword and, after cutting herself free, knocked out the guards holding her, plus several others who tried to stop her. Soon, the only one left was Maurice, who immediately turned and ran out of the arena. Swearing under her breath, she gave chase, catching up to him on a hillside a short distance away. "Alone at last," she drawled, moving towards him. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Nodding slowly, Maurice drew his own blade and lunged. Unfortunately for him, the rather clumsy effort resulted in him being quickly disarmed and driven to his knees. Shaking her head, Jacqueline put her blade to his throat, ready to deliver the final blow. But looking at him there, quivering in fear after his pathetic attempt at offense, she just couldn't bring herself to do it. "Go," she ordered, backing up a pace.

"W-what?"

"You heard me. Your master was right...I'm not a killer. I won't stain my soul by ending your miserable existence. So take what little's left of your dignity and run...now." He scrambled to his feet and, still shaking her head in disgust, she turned to watch Siroc. Big mistake. A second later, she heard footsteps running in her direction and, out of some latent immortal instinct, swung her blade towards the sound. Maurice's head flew from his shoulders, his sword fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, and the body collapsed in a boneless heap. "Damn you!" Jacqueline spat, once she realized what she'd done. "Why couldn't you just run?" She stuck the tip of her blade into the ground and dropped to her knees, leaning on it for support. Though she knew what had to come next, nothing anyone had said on the matter could possibly have prepared her for the real thing, as she'd soon discover.

Kneeling next to the corpse, she watched in amazement as a white mist rose from it and drifted towards her. The next thing she knew, her whole body felt as if it were on fire. Her limbs thrashed about as if they had wills of their own, while her mind was assaulted with flashes of memories...of Maurice's short, pathetic existence...street rat to lackey, and not much else. And mixed with the physical and mental assault was a sort of pleasure that she couldn't explain...a sensation that sickened and thrilled her at the same time.

Then, almost as suddenly as it'd begun, it was over. However, some of the effects seemed to linger. She could still feel the memories swirling around in her head as they integrated themselves, as well this odd, indescribable need to be...touched. Not that she could do anything about the latter at the moment. Though she wasn't in a hurry to experience it again anytime soon, she could understand how some immortals became addicted to the quickening...some of the sensations were quite intoxicating.

After losing what little was in her stomach, she rose unsteadily and started back towards the arena, praying that Siroc was still alive.

****************

Meanwhile, the sight of the quickening caused the two combatants in the arena to pause. So far, Siroc-incapable of completely shaking off his fear of his former tormentor-had just barely been able to hold his own against the larger, more experienced immortal, and now the only thing he could think of was Jacqueline. Beltranus laughed. "Don't worry, little 'Ganymede,'" he taunted. "You'll be joining her soon enough."

"W-what makes you think it's hers?"

"What makes you think it isn't?" He took a swing at Siroc, which the younger immortal narrowly avoided. "I taught my student to win by any means necessary. And yours...well...she lacks that 'killer' instinct. Probably didn't take Maurice very long at all." That did it. The thought of Jacqueline's death overriding his fear, Siroc charged Beltranus, intent on tackling him to the ground. Unfortunately, the elder immortal anticipated this reaction and stepped aside, laughing. A moment later, his sword was at the blonde's throat. "Pathetic. You were weak back in Rome, and you're weak now."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Siroc shot back. "Do it!"

"With pleasure." Beltranus raised his blade, ready to strike the killing blow.

***************

When Jacqueline reentered the arena, the sight that greeted her was the one she'd dreaded: Siroc on the ground, and Bernard preparing to take his head.

"Siroc!"

At her cry, both men looked at her, shocked. And the distraction was precisely what Siroc needed. Jacqueline watched as her comrade brought his blade to bear on the ex-centurion, sliding it through a gap in the elder immortal's armor and into his stomach. Bernard's eyes went wide as he dropped to his knees. "T-that's not possible," he gasped.

"Apparently, it is." He looked at Jacqueline for a moment, then returned his attention to his former master. "It's over, Beltranus. You can't hurt me anymore."

"Go to hell!"

"You first," Siroc said, raising his blade. "**_Illic can exsisto unus!_** (There can be only one!)" He swung for Bernard's neck, and it was over. Jacqueline watched in fascination as the white mist rose from his corpse and entered Siroc. A moment later, the quickening began, sending chills down her spine and making her hair stand on end. From the outside, it looked just as he'd described it-a freak lightning storm. But she knew that in reality, thousands of years worth of memories were being shoved into his head all at once, accompanied by the odd pain/pleasure combination.

The quickening seemed to take forever-probably because of Bernard's age. When it finally dissipated, Jacqueline ran to Siroc's side, throwing her arms around him as he knelt, trying to regain his bearings. "Are you alright?"

"Never better," he nodded. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, and she responded eagerly, the quickening-induced urges still running rampant. However, she was at least able to control herself enough to suggest finding an inn, to which he'd readily agreed, claiming Bernard's purse from his corpse to pay for it.

"Siroc?" she asked several hours later, once their urges had finally been sated. It wasn't exactly how she'd pictured her first time, and it was a little disconcerting to have such primal _need_ created by the act of taking someone's head, but she didn't regret it. Still...one post-quickening romp hardly constituted a relationship. They needed to figure out where to go from there...starting with the matter she'd been avoiding for most of the month.

"Yes?"

"Would you...uh...be offended if I said I wanted a different teacher?"

Siroc rolled over to face her, propping himself up on his elbow. "A different teacher? Like who?"

She sighed. "Rebecca. She offered to teach me herself, if I wanted it."

"Have you said yes?"

"Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first."

He smiled, running his fingers through her short hair-it was starting to grow back, but was still nowhere near the way it used to be. Not that he was complaining. "Maybe it's just me, but I actually find your hair rather attractive this way. It kind of reminds me of an...old friend," he said, blushing slightly.

"I'm flattered...I think. But that doesn't answer my question."

"Jacqueline, I have absolutely no objection to you letting Rebecca take over as your teacher. In fact, I think it's a great idea."

Her eyebrow shot up. "You do?"

"I know my methods can be kind of...well...harsh. For the sake of our relationship...whatever it is now...it would probably be better if I wasn't your teacher. I wouldn't want to ruin things by being a hard-ass. Besides, Rebecca's one of the best. You learn from her, I can guarantee you'll be around for a good long time."

"Thank you," she smiled, giving him a brief kiss. A moment later, she frowned. "Wait...we're due back at the garrison soon. How am I supposed to work with Rebecca at the abbey and still do my duties?"

Siroc chuckled. "Don't worry...I'm sure Rebecca has a plan for that. She wouldn't have offered otherwise."

"Good point," Jacqueline nodded. "So...what is this, exactly?" she asked, pointing to him and then herself. "I mean...are we lovers now? Or is this just a one-time deal?"

"We've got all the time in the world to figure that out," he whispered, trailing kisses along her neck. "Let's just enjoy this moment for what it is, before we have to return to the real world."

"Works for me. Should we mention this to Rebecca and Ramon?"

"Hell no," he laughed. "Gods forbid they think their little matchmaking scheme actually worked."

"You're mean," she chuckled, lightly slapping him on the arm.

"You know you love it."

"Yes...I do." Their lips met once more, and the couple fell back onto the bed, swiftly banishing all thoughts of duty and immortals from their minds.


	25. Epilogue

Epilogue

Wiseman Hall, St. Marys University College, 21 May 1999

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Jacqueline rubbed her eyes and stared at the blinking cursor on her computer screen. She was supposed to be working on a research paper on sexual abuse and childhood trauma for her clinical psychology class. Of course, thinking about the topic led to thoughts of Siroc-the reason she'd chosen the topic in the first place-and that led to the extended stroll down memory lane.

It was funny...as a mortal, she could never have imagined even attending a university, much less studying something so complex as psychology. And yet, here she was, 347 years later, in her second year at St. Mary's and, according to her professors, on her way to a promising career. She'd spent most of her life so far working in some form of law enforcement, seeing the horrors perpetrated by monsters like Bernard but unable to do anything for their victims except to try and bring the perpetrators to justice after the damage had been done.

Then, a couple of years ago, her golden opportunity came...in a manner of speaking. She'd been working as an inspector with the French police, and was shot and 'killed' during a high-profile drug bust. The death had gotten quite a bit of publicity, so she'd had little choice but to leave the country. She moved to Britain, which-Charles II notwithstanding-held some rather fond memories for her, including the time she'd spent working with British Intelligence during Napoleon's reign alongside a young soldier named Robert Helm, who became a good friend.

After giving it some thought, Jacqueline decided it was as good a time as any to reinvent herself, as it were...to actually earn a degree instead of faking her credentials (except for what she needed to fake in order to get into university, of course). So she became Jacqueline Rogers, army brat (which she hoped would explain any gaps in her 'records,' among other things) and applied to St. Mary's psychology program. It was a subject she hadn't been that familiar with at the time, so it didn't feel like cheating, and it would be a way she could help people like Siroc to heal, rather than just being the one to clean up the mess after the fact. And the more she learned, the more she couldn't help but wonder if things might have been different had she known those things three and a half centuries before, as Siroc's issues had remained even after Bernard was dead.

With a heavy sigh, she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a framed sketch that she'd done several years ago, from memory. It was the five of them: her, Siroc, Ramon, D'Artagnan, and Duval, albeit in modern clothes for the benefit of any mortals who might happen across it. God, how she missed them.

Duval had passed about six months after she became immortal...she'd found him in his office one morning after muster, dead of a heart attack. And, as per Louis' decree, she'd found herself thrust into the role of captain. It was tough, but with the help of her comrades she'd somehow managed to pull it off.

Then there was D'Artagnan, who retired to Gascony following the incident with Bernard and married Giselle, only to lose her a year later in childbirth, along with the twin boys she'd borne him. Siroc had done what he could, but had been unable to save any of them despite his best efforts. That same day, Jacqueline had discovered an infant in the garrison stables...a pre-immortal one. And when she learned what had befallen D'Artagnan's family, she brought the baby boy to him. D'Artagnan had been rather reluctant at first, given his prior reservations about raising children that were not his own, but she and Siroc eventually managed to convince him. As far as the rest of France was concerned, Charles de Batz-Castlemore III, Viscomte D'Artagnan was the surviving twin, while one of the actual twins had been buried in secret in order to corroborate the story.

Knowing how D'Artagnan felt about immortals, Jacqueline never told him the truth about his adopted son. And that was probably one of her greatest regrets. Young Charles grew into a fine young man, and followed in his 'Uncle' Jacques' footsteps by joining the Musketeers. And when the war with the Dutch began and Louis sent her to help lead the effort at the front, the pre-immortal had been one of the Musketeers who'd accompanied her.

He was a more than capable soldier, thanks in large part to the training she'd given him since he was old enough to wield a blade, but all of his fencing ability was no match for the Dutch bullet that tore into his chest on June 25, 1673. She wasn't on the field at the time, having gotten stuck with some of the more tedious tasks that came with command. It wasn't until a few hours later that she received the report of his death, and she managed to get to the corpse just in time for him to revive as an immortal. Unfortunately, she wasn't in time to stop the news of his 'demise' from being sent out to D'Artagnan. So after sending off a quick message to Louis so that he wouldn't think she'd deserted, Jacqueline and Charles had ridden back to Gascony to try and intercept the courier, going as fast as their mounts would allow and stopping when they could for fresh ones.

Sadly, despite their best efforts, they were too late. The courier was riding away just as they arrived at D'Artagnan's chateau, and they rushed inside to find the Legend's son swallowing the contents of a small vial-poison. He saw them enter just as he was finishing, but the damage was already done. They rushed over to him as he collapsed, and Jacqueline took him into her arms. He remained lucid long enough to beg her forgiveness-both for treating her the way he had all those years ago and for giving her a reason to think she needed to keep the truth about his son from him-and, once she'd granted it, he was gone. The thought of losing the last of his family had been too much for him to bear, and he'd taken his own life out of grief. But that fact remained a secret between the immortals. Officially, he'd died of a broken heart upon receiving the prematurely delivered news of his son's supposed death. That way, he could be buried alongside his wife, rather than in unconsecrated ground. She'd kept the secret for over three hundred years, and it still ate at her. Whenever she thought of D'Artagnan, she couldn't help but wonder how different things might have turned out had she told him Charles was pre-immortal...if doing so might have prevented him from taking the course that he did. But deep down, she knew such speculation was useless. D'Artagnan was long gone, and no amount of thought could change his fate.

As for Charles...well...he was still very much alive, and was currently living in the United States, working as a professional wrestler called 'The Legend.' '_Like grandfather, like grandson_,' Jacqueline mused, glancing at the poster he'd sent her awhile back, which was taped to the wall above her desk. With any other student, she'd have discouraged such a high-profile career. But she just couldn't bring herself to say no to him...probably because he reminded her so much of D'Artagnan, even though the two of them didn't actually share blood. Besides, Charles was more than able to take care of himself. As long as he didn't go overboard with it, she was content to let him have his brush with fame and fortune.

Shaking her head, Jacqueline let her eyes wander over the sketch once more, this time resting on her tall Spanish comrade. Unlike the others, Ramon had managed to live a full and happy life. His fling with Amanda ended after about a year, around the time Rebecca declared that she had no more to teach and announced her intention to return to the abbey, having spent the year living in an inn near the garrison which she'd purchased so that she could continue Jacqueline's lessons without her having to choose between them and being a Musketeer. Ramon was heartbroken for a few months, but got over it when the young woman Rebecca had hired to run the inn for her caught his eye. He courted Emmanuelle for nearly a year before marrying her and settling down at the inn. The couple had three children: Raul, Angelique, and Tomas. Their eldest son joined the Musketeers when he came of age, the younger one joined the priesthood, and their daughter married a young Spanish gentleman by the name of Carlos Alvarado.

Ramon took over as her and Siroc's official Watcher after Duval passed, and though she continued dodging the issue for nearly a decade, Jacqueline eventually told him the truth about knowing what he was. Of course, Ramon being who he was, he took the news in stride. It didn't matter to him that she knew, and he wasn't about to tell any of his superiors. Their friendship grew even closer after that, and her comrade was always careful about how much he told the head Watchers about her activities.

He retired from the Musketeers a few years before his son joined, and Rebecca gave him and Emmanuelle full ownership of the inn. Señora de la Cruz passed on around 1700 at age 67. The doctor back then didn't have a proper diagnosis, but based on what Jacqueline could recall, doctors nowadays would've diagnosed her with either cervical or ovarian cancer. It certainly wasn't pleasant, but she didn't suffer for very long.

By that time, Ramon-well into his seventies-had started to show signs of what modern doctors would call Alzheimer's. And after losing his wife, the condition deteriorated to the point where he was living almost exclusively in the past. As he lay dying just a few years later, Jacqueline remembered him calling for Amanda. Wanting to make her friend happy in what would likely be his final days, she'd written to the immortal thief, asking her to come, though she didn't hold out much hope. But, much to her surprise, Amanda did show up in fairly short order. Ramon's children, who'd come to be at his bedside, were a bit confused. They did know about immortals, though, and once Jacqueline explained who Amanda was, they understood. Not all of them liked it, but none of them attempted to interfere. Ramon and Amanda reminisced for a little while, she gave him one last kiss, and then he was gone. He'd gotten the ending D'Artagnan had longed for: as an old man in his bed, surrounded by family and friends.

Jacqueline, for her part, had stayed with the Bourbons for several generations. Her identity, in fact, was sort of a family secret. They didn't know exactly why she never aged, but none of them really questioned it. She was their protector, and as such was allowed to remain. When the age thing had come to be an issue with the Musketeers, she left to head the palace guard-a role that was a bit less public-and stayed on until around the time of the American Revolution. Louis XVI was, sad to say, nothing like his ancestor. He simply had no concept of how to run a kingdom, and reveled in his ignorance. And Louis was of the mind that a woman, even disguised as a man, was unfit to guard a King. So he assigned her to guard the Queen instead. Then, when rumors of an 'affair' between 'Jacques LePonte' and Her Majesty surfaced-never mind that such a thing was absolutely impossible-he used it as an excuse to get rid of her, shipping her off to the New World as part of the contingent of soldiers that were being sent to aid the colonists. After the war ended, she stayed behind. Partly because Marie Antoinette-who, unlike her husband, actually saw Jacques as a friend-warned her about the way the tide was turning in France, begging her not to come back and put herself at risk; and partly because she'd promised a young American soldier she'd befriended that she would take care of his wife and son if he died, which had happened at Yorktown. So she, as LePonte, 'married' the soldier's widow (who, by that time, was well aware of 'LePonte's' true identity) and stayed with the family in Virginia for over a decade. Then, when she received the devastating news of Marie Antoinette's execution-the late Queen had been nothing like the revolutionaries had made her out to be, and had not deserved such an ignoble death-Jacqueline gracefully bowed out of the sham 'marriage' and returned to the continent, though she avoided France until after the revolution had ended, staying with Ramon's descendants in Spain instead.

Jacqueline had maintained a male identity, changing the name every decade or so, up until the late 1960s, when the rules regarding gender roles finally began to relax and she was able to do what she knew best as herself. Over the years, she'd fought in a number of wars-including both World Wars-and served as an officer of the law during peacetime. She'd taken a number of young immortals under her wing, though most of them had since died. Only two-including Charles-had proven to be survivors, and the second had only been immortal since D-Day. Not very long in the grand scheme of things. The oldest immortals she knew of at the moment were Amanda, Cassandra, and the mysterious Methos, whoever he was.

Siroc should've been among them, but she hadn't seen or heard from him since 1660, when he'd taken off after failing to save Queen Anne from her cancer. The rumor among her Watcher contacts was that he'd fallen victim to Lady Guillotine during the Reign of Terror, though there hadn't been a body to substantiate the claim. Jacqueline had held out hope that the rumor was just that-a rumor-up until Rebecca's funeral back in 1994. Siroc never showed, and that was when she knew he was dead. If he'd been alive, he would've been there. Rebecca had been one of his best friends, after all. So he too was gone...the last connection to her mortal life severed. Nowhere to go now but forward.

Speaking of which.... Returning the sketch to her desk drawer, Jacqueline glanced down at the bottom right-hand corner of her computer screen. 1:45 AM, the clock read. She had fifteen minutes to get ready. Crossing herself and saying a quick Ave Maria, she turned off her computer, shrugged on her WWII army jacket-her grandfather's, if anyone asked-and slipped out of her dorm room, thankful that the rooms at this university were all singles. Last thing she needed was a nosy roommate asking questions about where she was going at two in the morning.

This was the part of immortality that she despised...the stupid, bloody 'Game' she was stuck in. Somehow, she'd managed to go nearly three and a half centuries with only taking five heads, including Maurice's. She'd been in way more fights than that, but most of the time she was able to stop things before they got to the point where decapitation was the only option.

But things were different this time. Lucien had been stalking her for almost two hundred years, starting from a few months after she'd found him dead at Ciudad Rodrigo during the war with Napoleon. She'd attempted to teach him, but no longer counted him among her students because he'd pretty much taken her lessons and spat them back in her face by doing the exact opposite. He just took off one day, and a few decades later he came back and killed her current student, shooting the girl through the chest and taking her head while she was 'dead.' Lucien left the body for her to find, along with a note letting her know who was responsible. And the pattern repeated itself over and over, with him crawling out of the woodwork every time she took a new student and murdering them. The only one he hadn't killed (not counting Charles, who was already old by the time Lucien became immortal) was young Dominic, and only because she'd heard the shot in time to stop him. She hadn't taken his head, though, being more concerned with the well-being of her student. Her mistake. He was back, and since she didn't have a new student for him to target, he'd taken to killing mortals on campus using the same M.O. It had taken a few weeks to track him down, but she'd finally made contact and challenged him. After tonight, Lucien wouldn't be hurting anyone ever again.

Pulling her jacket a bit tighter to ward off the evening chill, she looked around the deserted park she'd arranged to meet him at. It was off-campus, just far enough away that, hopefully, no one would notice the light show. She pulled out her pocket watch and checked it. 1:59 AM. The seconds ticked down and, sure enough, right at two she felt his presence. "We meet again, Lucien," she said, snapping it shut and shoving it back into the pocket of her jeans. She turned to see him standing a few feet away, just as smug as ever. His appearance hadn't changed much...white-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, piercing blue eyes, and pale skin. He was wearing all black, complete with leather duster, and carrying the same French _briquet_ he'd had when she first found him.

"Finally get up the nerve to face me, teach?" he taunted. "Took ya long enough. It's not because of those pathetic mortals I killed, is it?"

Jacqueline shook her head, drawing the wakizashi MacLeod had given her a few years back. She loved her Amazon blade, but couldn't bear to carry it any more after Rebecca died because of the memories it held, so she'd returned it to the secret room in the abbey (which she'd inherited when the former Amazon had been killed). "It's high time I cleaned up my mess," she shot back. "If I'd just taken your head back when you attacked Dominic, those mortals would still be alive."

"That's because you're weak. Always have been."

"Mercy isn't a weakness, Lucien."

"We'll see." He pulled out a gun, only to have it knocked out of his hand a moment later.

"I may not like to fight, but that hardly means I can't. So what do you say we do this fair and square? Take off your coat and empty your pockets...prove that you don't have any more nasty little surprises."

"You first."

"Very well." Jacqueline tossed her jacket aside, followed by the few items she carried in her jeans pockets: keys, cell phone, watch, and wallet. "Satisfied?"

He nodded, taking off his coat and pulling various knives and such from a number of hiding spots. When he finished with that, Lucien removed one last small item, which she couldn't quite make out, and gently tossed it to the ground beside him. Then he lunged at her, catching her off-guard, and she was just barely able to avoid the blade. She parried his next attempt, and the fight began in earnest.

It went back and forth for several minutes, neither one gaining an advantage. Lucien hadn't developed much more than the basic survival skills, she noted...probably because he'd spent most of his time targeting weaker immortals. It wasn't long before he made his fatal mistake. He swept at her legs, and she rolled forward to evade the blow. Thinking he had an advantage, Lucien raised his blade overhead.

That was all the opening she needed. Coming out of the roll, Jacqueline raised her blade and stabbed him in the stomach. His eyes went wide, and as he dropped to his knees she pulled the sword back out and swung it around, sending his head flying.

The quickening began a moment later, bringing with it the same disgustingly thrilling, stomach-churning sensations as always. It was the worst part of the so-called Game, but in this case it had to be done. Lucien was a menace, and he had to be stopped before any more innocent people were hurt.

As the quickening finally ended, Jacqueline heard sirens...and they were heading in her direction. She swore. Much as she respected those in law enforcement, it was never a good thing to have them around on the heels of a challenge. Moving quickly, she gathered up the items she'd discarded at the beginning of the fight, not wanting to leave any evidence of her involvement. That's when she saw it...the last item Lucien had dropped. It was a cell phone, and there was a call in progress. Ending it, she checked the call history. The last number dialed was 999...Emergency Services. Call time was 1:58 AM. Plenty of time to have given them a location. "That little bastard...he set me up!"

Unfortunately, the police chose that moment to pull up and surround her. With a sigh, Jacqueline dropped the phone and raised her hands. She grimly noted that her sword was still lying on the ground where it had been tossed during the quickening...complete with her fingerprints and Lucien's blood. And since she had to actually be touching it to use the concealment trick, there was no way she could get rid of it without being obvious. The cops had her dead to rights, and she was just glad that Britain had abolished the death penalty back in '69.

Seeing her surrender, a couple of uniformed officers came over, cuffed her hands behind her back, and searched her for weapons. They were followed by a couple of detectives, who introduced themselves as DC Ayers and DS Norris. One of the uniforms handed her wallet to Norris, who opened it up to check her identification. "Jacqueline Rogers," he said, handing the wallet to his colleague. "You are under arrest for the murders of Samuel Cartwright, Lucy Stephens, and..." he glanced back at the officers who were examining the body.

"Lucas Cornwall," one of them said, checking the headless man's wallet.

Nodding, Norris continued. "Lucas Cornwall."

"Wait...what?" Jacqueline exclaimed. She'd admit to 'Lucas,' but the other two had been Lucien's mortal victims. "I didn't-"

"The evidence would suggest otherwise."

"What evidence?" she asked, glancing around the scene. Jacqueline could've sworn she saw one of the uniforms pull some sleight-of-hand with Lucien's sword, but then another one picked up the gun and dropped it in an evidence bag. Which meant that her now-deceased foe had gotten to maybe one or two of the cops, but not all of them. She just wondered whose side the detectives were on.

Heedless of her brief mental detour, Norris launched into his reply. Jacqueline missed some of it, but the gist was that, a few days ago, they'd received an anonymous tip-most likely from Lucien himself, she figured-linking someone matching her description to the murders; then there was the 999 call from an apparently panicked young man, who gave them a location, but not much else. The rest of that call was garbled...all they'd heard were angry voices, then the sounds of a struggle. They got to the scene and...well...the rest seemed obvious.

"You've got it wrong," she shot back once he'd finished. "Lucas was the killer, not me. I was just-"

Norris held up his hand, cutting her off. "You do not have to say anything," he recited. "But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand, Miss Rogers?" She nodded, not sure what else to say, as they obviously weren't interested in hearing her version of events at the moment. The Detective-Sergeant gestured to the uniformed officers, who escorted her to their vehicle and into the backseat. They slammed the door shut, and Jacqueline knew she was screwed.

**_The End???_**


End file.
